The Beautifully Dark Sister
by Literary Melody
Summary: When hope seems like a myth and darkness is your only friend, living merely is a way to pass the time. A Tenth Walker story with a history that is begging to be heard, and a future that is desperate to live.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! Welcome, welcome, welcome! This is my first Lord of Rings fic, but it is certainly not my first time around the rodeo. I will say that a couple of my stories have been put on a hiatus, and I am unsure if they will ever be completed. BUT this story is different. The majority of it has already been written and is ready to be put up here. :)**

 **I'm hoping that everyone is going to like it. Honestly, I'm just putting it up because I'd be interested in reading it, and... well there seems to be a lot of... people falling into Middle Earth stories? Not a bad thing; I read a lot of them, but this is mostly for those that like the native folks joining in on the fun. :)**

 **This is going to be a romance story that goes all the way through RoTK and a little bit beyond. I am currently writing at the point right before the third movie would start. I love both movies AND books, and I will be trying my best to create a realistic mesh between the two worlds, with a heavier hand on books through the first part, and a heavier hand on movies for the second. The first part of this story is going to be lacking the romance, except for a light sprinkling every now and again. And no, I am not going to say who the lead romantic character is. That would jeopardize the fun! All you can know is that there is an OC character who... well you will see! I'm going to try to make this as original as possible considering how many Tenth Walker stories there are. Hopefully you will fall in love with my girl before we even get to that point and you can excuse my lack of originality.**

 **The rating for this is T, but considering all of the violence.. I'd like to put it at an M rating but I think that would give the impression that there are going to be lemons and there will most certainly not be... maybe limes but not lemons. Heavy romance at times, but never that intense. Heavily suggested but yeah. Sorry.**

 **Any questions? I'd be happy to take them over a PM. :) Otherwise... let's begin!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing that pertains to the crowned jewel of literature known as J.R.R. Tolkien and cannot claim rights to the majesty that is Peter Jackson and his filmmaking prowess.**

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Part One - Life Is Beautiful

Life is Beautiful - Vega4

"Life is beautiful  
But it's complicated  
We barely make it  
We don't need  
To understand  
There are miracles  
Miracles"

 _ **Third Age 314 – Middle Earth**_

 _An Elf lord smiled at the creature in his hands, feeling as if his age was being rewound and the soil under his battle-worn feet felt softer and the wind smoother over his coarse skin. The creature's hands reached for his fingers with curious brown eyes._

 _"She is beautiful," he murmured into the new skin, breathing in the scent of his newest family member. She smelt like a warm autumn evening, with soft fires dancing in a breeze._

 _Her mother reached for the new bundle, holding her close to her bosom and cooing._

 _He watched with pride as the girl's eyes roamed about her surroundings, knowing almost immediately that she was special indeed, much like her siblings. This was a being of importance and of this there was no doubt. The Valar had blessed him once more. What this daughter would go to do with her life, he was unsure. He longed deeply for her happiness and prayed to the Valar that they would be able to grant him such a thing, as they had already thankfully done with his other children – at least for the moment. He had peace._

 _The midwife caught his attention and walked to him with uneasy eyes, glancing at the closed doors that separated him and his wife from their home. He could see the question brimming in her eyes and nodded tiredly._

 _As if they had been watching through the cracks of the doors, three others burst through the door almost instantly, rushing to their mother's side and looking into the swaddle of cloth._

 _"Father?" he heard and looked over to see a young woman with hair as black as the evening sky. "I would wonder if it was inappropriate to feel envy," she mumbled, looking down at her hands shamefully._

 _"You mustn't," her mother shushed, grey eyes widening with disapproval._

 _"It is not every day that Valar bestow their gifts upon their people. We celebrate. Do not speak of such things," her father added, brushing the girl's black hair away with a tender hand. "Your brothers asked a similar question upon your arrival, however." The two young men stiffened from their positions, still looking with wonder upon the new daughter._

 _"And how do they think now?" their mother asked gently but with a spark of playfulness buried deep in her wispy orbs. It was well known throughout the realm that it was this mother who had not only given the literal life to her children, but she had given them the first breath to laughter. Laughter and love could cure all things in her eyes._

 _"I think only our other sister will ever be able to rival her beauty," one said with conviction, earning a nod from the other. It was not customary to see them both so serious in a situation, but looking to the two, it would have been impossible to not see the fierce protectiveness they already shrouded their youngest sister with. Already, the baby had ensnared them as she had done with the rest of their family. Only the girl questioned this._

 _"I wish to see," the girl piped again, pushing her older brothers from the sight. When she looked down into the swaddle, she twitched her nose. "How can you see such a thing?" she asked, looking up at her brother. "Infants are difficult to distinguish when compared to another. How can you see beauty that is practically identical to that of the whole nursery?"_

 _Her brothers frowned and one reached to take the newborn from her mother, tracing her cheek delicately. "I cannot grasp how you do not," the other replied._

 _The girl sighed and looked carefully at the baby, wondering idly who she would become and what her part in Middle-Earth would be. "Do you suppose that she will like me?" she asked quietly._

 _Her father placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze of comfort. "My family will not house dislike towards the other. You all share the same blood and you will be bonded by this for eternity until you diminish and go into the West."_

 _The girl nodded and smiled for the first time at her younger sister. "What is her name?"_

 _Her mother sighed contentedly and tiredly. "Her name is Arathell," she whispered before falling into slumber with a peaceful smile on her glowing face._

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 **So... what does everyone think? I'd love to hear from you! Oh, and I'd recommend listening to the song listed at the top. It's a winner for sure! And I thought that it would be a good introduction into this story. Basically sums it all up in those few lines there. :)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! Welcome to Chapter 2. Thanks for all of the followers and favorites! I can't believe the response was that quick after only one tiny chapter!**

 **And thanks sooooo much to Certh for being my first reviewer! You brought up a lot of interesting points in your review, and I gotta to say... I like you. I was not guessing that anyone was going to actually correct me on the spelling of Arathell, and truthfully, you are absolutely correct. Sindarin dictates that it should be spelt with one "l" and with the accent mark. However... Given that she is my main main character, let's just say that maybe I am a tad bit lazy? I don't know what that makes me in your book, but I hope it doesn't bother you. I just don't want to be adding in symbols every time I write her name. Writing it the way that I have is easier, unfortunately. I have a personal theory that that is why Tolkien's Fellowship members do not have names with accent marks in them... even if he wasn't writing on a computer at the time. ;) If it is any consolation, EVERY other character that Tolkien wrote with an accent will appear in my story with the accent. Just not my character. I hope that that clears things up for you! And thanks again for the WONDERFUL review. You made my day!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything from either the literary world or from the movie world.**

* * *

Part One - Life Is Beautiful

Second Chance - Shinedown

"Tell my mother,  
Tell my father  
I've done the best I can  
To make them realize  
This is my life"

 _ **T. A. 420 – The Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _"Minas Anor has been finished," Elrohir relayed to his father. "King Ostoher has done it."_

 _"I never would have expected the race of Men to make something so remarkable," Elladan added with a look of wonder. "Father, you must see it!"_

 _Elrond raised an eyebrow at his sons and stood from his throne, walking to see the leaves dancing on their way down from the trees. "I believe that there will come a day where I will."_

 _"Have you seen it in your mind?" Elrohir pondered, reaching to rest his hand on his father's shoulder. "I can assure you that it is better in person."_

 _"There are more things on my mind than the magnificent architecture of Men," Elrond disagreed with a slight frown._

 _Elladan chuckled. "What could that possibly be?"_

 _"Brothers!" a happy shriek announced, making Elrond frown. The other two pivoted on the spot with grand smiles and threw their arms around their youngest sister, twirling her in the air as she laughed with a tinkling chime that danced in the wind. "Oh, how I missed your presence!" Arathell exclaimed upon being set back on the ground._

 _"We were not gone for long, Sister," Elladan smirked._

 _"I am not accustomed to you being gone at all. Father has been intolerable," she bemoaned._

 _"Arathell!" Elrond snapped, directing his attention to his youngest. His arms folded across his chest in frustration, but she did not seem to mind much. She only looked coyly at the patriarch with a playful twinkle that was reminiscent of her mother's. "When will you ever learn respect?" he demanded._

 _"It was only a bout of teasing, Father," Arathell smiled innocently. "Has he told you yet of my latest crime?" she continued dramatically, holding a hand to her heart in mock shame._

 _"Whatever have you done?" Elrohir chuckled, seeing his sister's smile settle and her eyes acquire a serious look. Arathell had long since displayed her stubbornness amongst their family, and they knew well that when she was determined to do anything, she would find a way to do it._

 _"She desires to be trained in the art of war… which is not so outlandish, because all Elves are trained in this manner. But she wants to actually ride to battle," another voice entered smoothly. The final daughter of Elrond Peredhil entered with poise and grace and ease that exceeded that of her sister._

 _"Arwen," the older brothers smiled, embracing her while she returned it softly and without fuss. "What is it that you are speaking of?"_

 _"If a man can wield a sword, I see no issue in a woman being learned in the trade," Arathell answered proudly, making the family silent. The smiles had disappeared from her brothers' faces and she knew that this was an area where she would have to do without their support. "We are in a time of peace besides," she carried on, trying not to become dismayed. "The likelihood of me ever actually riding into battle is therefore very slim." They remained silent. "I have not even aged a quarter of a millennium and I already tire of diplomacy and Imladris. How am I expected to endure the rest of my days, caged as I am in this prison called a palace?"_

 _"Arathell, talk such as this is not becoming to a lady," Arwen snapped, her beautiful grey eyes glaring at her younger sister. "Bear in mind that your words do not only speak badly of yourself, but of me. Do you see my position as being unneeded and worthless?"_

 _"Sister, I would not do you the dishonor," Arathell rushed, waving her hand away simply. "You are much too quick to take my words as insult. The desire to rule runs in your veins, and you enjoy the feel of it, and there is no shame in that. Perhaps it would be easier if I felt it as you do so that you would not be angered by my wishes as you are. But that is something that I simply do not want. I do not want that power. I have never wanted it."_

 _Elrond stared at his daughter with a frown. "It is not a woman's duty to defend her home," he enunciated._

 _"How do you know that I see it as a duty?" she rebutted with a fire in her eyes that they all knew would not so easily die._

 _"You would seek war for the pleasure of taking a life?" Elrohir demanded, looking paler. "Even Men do not have tendencies such as this."_

 _"I want to explore and see Middle Earth!" she disagreed. "I want to see Minas Anor as you describe it. I want to sleep on the soil and encounter peoples of other cultures. There cannot be shame in such a desire."_

 _"You are a daughter of the House of Elrond, not a ruffian," Elrond told her firmly._

 _"I do not intend being such a ruffian, if that is what you are implying," she said dryly, feeling her confidence wane in the wake of her family. "I simply meant to say that I do not want the life that Arwen does."_

 _"And what is it you believe I want?" Arwen replied stiffly._

 _"The closest thing you want to adventure is finding love. It is respectable and honorable," Arathell answered. "You would risk your heart sooner than you would risk your being. I however, am the exact opposite."_

 _"Elven traditions do not hold in this manner," Elladan said tightly, grasping his sister's arm. "Pleasures of the heart are favored over –"_

 _"Maybe I do not wish to fall in love," she countered._

 _"You are young," Elrohir said gently. "Love may come to you yet."_

 _"It is a sickly disease that incapacitates its victims. How beneficial can it be to worry over another and to be jealous regarding their actions, only to be told that you are insufficient in his wants and needs? Why can I not rely on something that is real, like a sword to keep me alive?"_

 _"Love does keep you alive, Arathell," Arwen berated. "It kindles the desire to live."_

 _"Love inspires grief and a broken heart and death," Arathell snapped._

 _"Why do you speak like this? You have not experienced it for yourself to speak wisely on the matter," Elladan mentioned, running a hand through her precious hair._

 _"Books can give answers to questions no one else will," she said sullenly._

 _"Then turn back and study your books!" Elrond exclaimed with a huff that startled his kin. "My answer is no and it shall forever be no! You will not be a warrior and you will do as I say! You have no choice in this matter."_

 _His daughter swiveled to stare at him with hurt eyes. She looked to her brothers, looking for any type of support, but found none. Fighting tears, she pushed past her family and ran to her chambers, closing the doors roughly behind her._

 _She ordered the maids to bring her dinner to her room that evening, and the evening after that as well. For fifty years, the woman remained in her room by no law but her own._

 _Her mother, always doting on her youngest, could do nothing to rouse her daughter from the darkness of her mind. Fifty years would never be looked at by an Elf to be a long amount of time, but her family ached for every day she remained within the confines of her room. Her stubbornness, it was described, could rival that of the Dwarves, for which they were not close to by any means. None could understand the cause for her stubbornness either, believing her to be fainthearted and childish. A woman in armor would never be something that they would be able to understand. Even the lesser Elves of the city could not grasp her desire to witness lands beyond her own. Nevertheless, the people of Imladris would speak with partial annoyance and excitement when they would see a wisp of her gown in the balcony of her chambers. After the first thirty years of her solitude, they took to calling her Shadow, the occasional tint of her smoky gray gowns only making the name spread faster._

 _ **T.A. 470 – The Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _Her family was well aware of the name she had been given, and Elrond cursed them for so quickly turning on royalty and ridiculing her. Deciding put an end to the whispers of his deranged and unruly offspring, he made his way to her room, stopping outside the door. He had once sworn to his wife that he would not engage his daughter in conversation until she decided to succumb to his demands, fully believing he could outlast her spirit. He waited for fifty years and could not foresee an end to her obsession. It was time that she came back to the world she had abandoned._

 _"I hear you, Father," he heard her and blinked when the door opened in front of him. His daughter stared up at him with a shroud over her eyes and mind. Fifty years was nothing to an Elf, but to Elrond, he felt broken at seeing the dramatic changes his daughter had gone through in her isolation. "Do you breathe loudly with anger or with fear? Forgive me, but I cannot remember how to tell the difference," she mocked, turning her back and walking further into the room and sitting on her bed with a defiant look of boredom plastered on her face._

 _Elrond followed carefully, observing her books strewn across the floor with no particular pattern. He looked at his daughter, now 161. The last he had seen her, she was only 111. Her hair had grown, the lack of sun darkening it from its previous honey color to chestnut. It did not curl like Arwen's or Celebrían's. It was straight and thick, much like her brothers'. Her eyes had never become the wise grey that the Elves revered. They remained a dark chocolate, deep and treacherous always with a darker thought buried within them. Her skin was paler than the other's as well, resembling a full moon in a clear night sky._

 _"You finally gather the courage to see me after fifty years and yet you still have no words to give me?" she taunted, arching a perfect eyebrow at him._

 _The lord snapped out of his thoughts and frowned. "I see that the years have not taught you anything regarding etiquette," he mentioned, picking a book off of the floor._

 _She frowned and stood to take the book out of his hands, resting it back on the floor. "Why would it if I had no one to practice on, Father?" she replied. "Who could have shown me? Elves cannot grow wise without the direction of others, after all. Even our race must learn to pick ourselves up after we stumble." She looked up at him and he was still unable to read her expression. "Who should give me direction, Father, because surely, it cannot be you? You do not love me as you love my kin."_

 _Elrond sighed and reached for her hand, which she promptly snapped away. She walked to the edge of her room, just before the balcony with only her bare feet basking in the sun's warm glow. "I wish you would not speak that way."_

 _"I have not grown wise enough to remedy that trait, and I severely doubt that I ever will," she replied harshly. "Why are you here?" she demanded with a brusque voice that no longer held the love and affection he once remembered from his daughter. She sounded more like Arwen, but even she held more tenderness than his youngest at present._

 _He swallowed. "You are very stubborn, my Arathell," he started. "People accuse you of being a decedent of Dwarves."_

 _"That is too low an insult even for me," she said with a mirthless chuckle. "If anything, I believe that I resemble you more than mother. Clearly, you carry the ability to be stubborn just as well."_

 _"Clearly," he said quickly, "you would have outlasted me."_

 _"Yes, because that was my goal all along," she snapped, turning to face him. "You have yet to state your purpose. In case you cannot tell from my scattered books, I have things to clean and then make a mess of again, so if you could hurry, I would be much appreciative." He sighed and reached for her, watching her stiffen at the sight. "Father, forgiveness is not earned through one embrace."_

 _"How is it earned then, if you know so much of it?"_

 _Her brows furrowed, allowing him to see her emotion for the first time in fifty years. "You let me wait for fifty years for a man I call Father. I read in novels of the love that transcends through fathers and daughters and found myself wondering what was wrong with me that I could not evoke my father's love as these women had done. You would not see me because I had dreams that defied your logic and the customs of our people. Tell me, Father: are customs more important than retaining your own daughter? If so, I believe that this apology is void and our interaction must continue being nonexistent."_

 _He rested his forehead in his hand. "You are still very headstrong," he commented._

 _"But fainthearted according to others that lurk outside my window, looking for a glimpse of one they call Shadow. I have lost my identity as Lady of this realm and have become a story told to babes. A Lady wanting to throw away her pricy tiara in favor of a sword and blood. What a fool I must be. Fancy that it only took fifty years for this to happen. One would think that an Elf would be more resilient to time and all of its symptoms," she said with a grimace._

 _"You still crave a sword then?" he asked, looking up at his daughter._

 _"Neither fifty years nor fifty hundred years would quench this craving, I assure you," she said with a laugh. "Is that why you are here? To appease me?" she teased._

 _He stood from her bed and moved swiftly across the room to take her shoulders in his hands, squeezing them tightly to prevent her from leaving. "My daughter, even I know that appeasing you would take more than giving what you want. I have hurt you in my absence, and I will do what I can to make things right once more. Your brothers and sister grow weary of my stubbornness, as well as yours. But… if battle is what your heart truly desires then I will not be the one to command it otherwise. Your brothers have agreed to take on the task of teaching you. This is something I refuse to take part of, but as I said… if you insist, then a Lady must not go wanting, especially one of my House."_

* * *

 **Again, listen to the music if you feel so inclined. This one is a particular favorite. :) And please leave a review! I'd love to hear from you.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! Welcome to Chapter 3! And thanks again to my lovely friend Certh for reviewing the last chapter! Please, please, please review everyone! I would love to hear what you all are thinking and Certh has given me many things to think about and I would love to answer any questions or talk about anything any of you would like to talk about. :)**

 **I apologize if you all are waiting for the big jump to Lord of the Rings. I will say right now that that is not going to happen. I have a lot of build up and character building that must be done before we can get to there. I know none of you have asked about it, but I thought that I would say that anyway just so that we are all on the same page. :) I hope nobody is too put out. But, the story up to those points is interesting, I promise, and I think that I can make it worth your while.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson, other than the love for the series. Though, I do own my Arathell.**

* * *

Part One - Life is Beautiful

Centuries - Fall Out Boy

"And I can't stop 'til the whole world knows my name  
'Cause I was only born inside my dreams  
Until you die for me, as long as there's a light, my shadow's over you  
'Cause I, I am the opposite of amnesia"

 _ **T. A. 550 – Unspecified location, Gondor**_

 _"Men of Darkness," she scoffed to herself. "Clearly, they have not met Shadow," she mocked, watching flames scour Gondor and lick at the soldiers' heels. "His Majesty will be pleased," she whispered, waving a hand to those behind her and walking with stealth behind the Easterlings._

 _Her sword was swift and quiet as it pushed through the flesh. Her heart fluttered as the life extinguished by her hands. When the troops finally understood that they were being attacked from behind, she and her small army battled hard._

 _The battle was done in a matter of hours and when her blade sliced through the final neck, she looked toward the White City, sighing in satisfaction, knowing that she had saved countless lives, all by risking her own._

 _Another battalion galloped on horses to her and her company, a regal figure sitting upon a pitch black, highly decorated animal._

 _"The credit for the retaking of this country goes to me," the Man said, wiping drops of blood from his lip. "Your assistance was much appreciated."_

 _She smirked and walked up to the ninth king of Gondor, stroking the horse's muzzle with boredom. "What is your animal's name?" she asked sweetly. "It is very majestic."_

 _The King grinned slowly, taking her question for a means of flirting. An Elf would make a fine addition to his bedchamber, indeed. "Kastun, my lady. It means 'treasure' in Westron."_

 _Her smirk grew in size and there was a malicious spark that engulfed her chocolate eyes as she looked back to the animal. She whispered something precious into an awaiting ear of the horse, watching with amusement as its rider was suddenly bucked off of its back and into the mud. She heard a yelp and saw him clutching his elbow dearly. His soldiers drew their bows instantly, and she felt their arrows trained on her. "Now, now," she started, raising her hands. "His Highness needs medical attention, and I am unfortunately not known for healing amongst my kin." She turned to the horse. "That was very disrespectful of you. You are royalty in the stables and you throw him off and injure him? How is that to display gratitude?" she asked, slowly turning her gaze from the animal to the King who was still on the ground breathing hard through the pain she had given him. She smirked once more; she would not be disrespected by a Man, even when the Man was a King. "I'm taking the horse, and in case you weren't watching the battle from the comforts of your tent, I would assume that you know what should happen if you were to follow me." She gave a light tug on the reins and climbed up into the saddle. "The provisions would take too much time to unload off of the horse, you understand. I have an appointment with my father that I am two months late for. Best to not keep him waiting any longer, you see."_

 _Her company chuckled at her dark, but childish antics and they began walking off into the distance until she stopped them. She turned the horse to look back at the soldiers helping their king to his feet. "On second thought, since you are already home, I think we will just take all of your horses." Her company quickly moved to grab the animals, climbing on their backs and whispering words to push them along. She gave them a breathtaking smile that left the Men frozen for a moment and then urged the horse towards home._

 _Her brothers would be so jealous._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 1100 – The Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _Arathell inclined her head, avoiding the gaze her mother's mother. They had met on several occasions in her life, and Arathell could not truthfully admit to liking this member of her kin. The Elven Lady's beauty radiated through her family tree, and her wisdom was boundless. Her cunning and ability to see through masks did not pass to her daughter or to her oldest granddaughter; however it was very evident in the youngest of their family._

 _Perhaps this was why she felt aversion to her kin's appearance. Arathell never pretended to have a dominant hold over her immediate family, and this was only because she didn't have to. Giver of the most painful headaches to her father, cause of grief in mother, and cause of annoyance from her siblings, she was. But these disappointing attributes did not prevent her from getting what she wanted most from each of them, manipulating them only slightly when it was absolutely needed. A well placed remark or a favored look was all it took._

 _Galadriel's presence took this away however, becoming the woman of power and wit that Arathell could only hope to be one day. Whatever Galadriel desired, it was done, and it was done without argument, unlike Arathell's wishes which involved disagreement and then a period of isolation if it was serious enough._

 _She felt her kin's hand take her chin and force her to look her in her icy blue eyes. Almost a millennium of life and Arathell had yet to learn to avoid such situations. "You have grown in beauty, my love," her grandmother purred, kissing her forehead tenderly. While Arathell tried to avoid her, she had unfortunately become the favorite of her grandmother. "I wonder if Arwen notices your appearance as much as I do. You must be careful – she could be subject to envy."_

 _She rolled her eyes and pushed Galadriel's hand from her face. "I am sure there is no wondering in your head, Grandmother. You know everyone's thoughts as well as your own."_

 _"Arathell!" her father snapped, his daughter not even batting an eyelash. She had long since gotten used to the berating comment or two regarding her lack of etiquette and respect toward her elders._

 _"She only speaks as she sees," Galadriel hushed as Arathell predicted she would. Ever to her defense, her grandmother was. At least she still could manipulate such a figure. "Not even one thousand and you are wise beyond your years. I dread your abilities as you grow older."_

 _"Will they rival yours?" she asked dryly, meeting her gaze firmly._

 _Galadriel smiled. "Forgive my arrogance, but only when I depart this world will you even begin to rival my power, my dear."_

 _"And will you depart soon?" she replied, arching an eyebrow._

 _Galadriel chuckled while Elrond snatched her arm painfully, but Arathell withheld the grimace. "You do not speak this way!" her father hushed. "Have you no decorum? No respect for your elders? You disgrace me with your arrogance, Arathell, and I will not stand for it."_

 _She ignored her father's words and stared at her kin. "I will be here for a while yet, Arathell," Galadriel answered. "I sense that my presence will be needed in the future and I will not abandon Arda and leave it to an undesirable fate."_

 _Arathell inclined her head and tore her arm from her father's grasp. "Why are you here, Grandmother?" she asked carefully. "Rarely do you leave the trees of Lothlórien unless it is for a great purpose," she carried on._

 _Her grandmother smiled for a small moment and then looked to her father as her seriousness replaced the joy on her face. "I come bearing both good and bad tidings," she said lowly._

 _"Give us the bad first so that we may be cheerful at the end of the conversation and our minds do not linger on the bad, but on the good," Arathell demanded, earning a stern look from her father._

 _"How are you sure that your presence is needed for this discussion, Daughter?" Elrond asked tightly. "You cannot be involved in everything."_

 _"I am your best in the field of evil. If there are bad tidings, I would rather hear from the source instead of through a channel where words can get lost," she reasoned._

 _"You think I would keep things from you?" Elrond demanded._

 _"You keep many already," she replied easily._

 _"Not as many as you may think." He sighed and touched his temples tiredly. "Come," he surrendered. "This discussion should not be held where many ears are open to hearing what you have to say, my lady."_

 _They walked outside to sit around her father, Arathell making sure to take the seat on his right where she would be seen as the more dominant of the women. Her father glowered, but remained silent. Galadriel seemed unbothered and boldly took the seat at the opposite head, further from her kin where Arathell felt the slap of her dominance across the table._

 _"What is the news?" Arathell asked roughly, already eager for the meeting to be over._

 _Galadriel stared at her for many long moments before calmly saying, "It is rumored that Dol-Guldur has a new inhabitant." Father and daughter both stiffened, and Arathell knew immediately that there would be no news good enough to take her mind away from what she was hearing now. "There is evil that is gathering in the East. The Istari and Chief Eldar both believe it to be the work of a Nazgûl."_

 _"What is being done to contain this evil?" Elrond asked._

 _"In no place in their minds do they believe Sauron is returning. He is weak and would not be so bold with his movements when he knows that his efforts could be reduced to nothing before he was to truly begin," Galadriel assured. "I am unsure of their decision, though it does stand on sturdy foundation. There have been scouts to investigate the terrain and they return with no indication that there is tangible evil present. The sky in the east is still touched with the Valar's light – there is no cause to worry as of now. We simply must keep an eye to spare on Dol-Guldur to be sure."_

 _"Mithrandir saw this?" Arathell asked in a voice just above a whisper._

 _"He was the one to convey this message to me, yes," Galadriel replied sadly. "With him were Radagast the Brown and Saruman the White."_

 _Arathell scoffed and sat further back in her seat. "I care little for the tidings of Saruman," she said tightly. "His voice alone ignites anger and distrust in my soul. Too crooked is his nose for me to think that his mind is any less straight and true."_

 _She felt her father's hand on her shoulder and when she looked at him, she did not see the disappointment she expected, rather confusion and a twinge of curiosity. "How can you see this, my daughter?" he asked with wonder and great interest._

 _She stared at her father with confusion, and then looked at her grandmother who seemed fascinated by her words. "Is it not evident enough for others to see the shifts in his gaze? Saruman is the head of his order, for sure, but there has never been any doubt that he craves to be the head of much more than five Wizards, however powerful they may be. He wishes for a tower that reaches high into the heavens, almost until it touches starlight – it is obvious. But he is solitary and has no apprentices, why could he desire such a refuge? Surely, this can only mean that he is nothing but a being who desires admiration and control over all he gazes upon. He wants his territory to seem larger than it is. Only he is incapable of finding such a place at present; I am sure he will in the future."_

 _Galadriel stood and walked to her, touching her pale hand to Arathell's temple. "You see much for one so young. It is not foresight, like the gift of your father," she said slowly and Arathell's head swiveled to look at the man in question, who looked strangely proud. "But it is similar," Galadriel continued. "You see through veils that others do not even know exist. The gift of visual truth, I believe it is named."_

 _She rolled her eyes and pushed her grandmother's hand away, standing. "What is the good news?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest._

 _Her grandmother smiled and retrieved her hand. "It has also reached my ears by none other than Mithrandir that Tharanduil has an heir at last. His name is Legolas. The Valar have not forsaken our Woodland kin, it would seem."_

 _Arathell sighed and stood. "The joy of birth from my people will not supplant my darker thoughts," she replied, walking inside without care of saying farewell. Her grandmother loved her for who she was and would no doubt expect anything less. If Lady Galadriel so desired, she would be able to find Arathell and wish her well. Arathell would not bow to anyone even they were her own kin._

* * *

 **I'm sure you all know the song, but if you don't, go take a look!**

 **So, I will say that everything that happened in this chapter is part of the actual history of what happened before LoTR began. Look at the Appendices - there is a lovely chronology there that will be used for the story - that is about the closest thing you are going to get for spoilers.**

 **I hope no one is too upset that she already knows all there is to about Saruman. Keep in mind that he does not actually live in Isengard yet, so her whole description of what he desires has not yet come to pass. (Haha did I sound like Galadriel or what?) So this is a tiny thing of foresight that I am going to say that many Elves possess. But her visual truth gift is real, much like Galadriel's power of telepathy sort of thing. Arathell just sees through people's masks is all.**

 **And knowledge about when Legolas was born is not exactly known. Many believe that it was around the year 1300 so I stuck with that, meaning that Arathell is almost 1000 years older than he is.**

 **Any questions? Send me a review!**

 **Love you all lots,**

 **\- LM**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, everyone! Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter! There were three new people who left a review and to you, I say WELCOME! I look to forward to hearing more from you in the future. ;) And thanks to** _Certh_ **yet again for leaving me with lovely things to ponder. I have loved our discussions thus far. And to** _Guest_ **, I would love to tell you who she has a relationship with... oh, actually I can't! You will just have to see, but thanks for your enthusiasm! It gets me excited!**

 **I have said some people comment on the childish behavior of Arathell, and I am so happy that you are noticing these things. They are crucial to her character building, so I thank you for paying attention. ;)**

 **Sorry to anyone who got some notifications about chapters. I went through the first three and changed the name of Part One. It is called "Life is Beautiful" after the first song quoted from that first chapter. This song, I decided is going to be a part of the story, so if you have yet to listen, I certainly would! Part titles will be coming from these lyrics. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with J.R.R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson. I only claim rights to Arathell.**

* * *

Part One - Life is Beautiful

Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell

"I've looked at life from both sides now,  
from win and lose, and still somehow  
it's life's illusions I recall.  
I really don't know life at all."

 _ **T.A. 1300 – The Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _"Father," she pressed, walking into the palace with dried blood pinned to her pale cheeks. "Where is Father?" she demanded, finding Arwen standing just ahead of her looking dumbfounded._

 _"What has happened to you?" Arwen demanded, grasping her younger sister's shoulders tightly. "It is not often you return with injuries."_

 _"Orcs," Arathell growled. "I must speak with Father," she repeated._

 _Her brothers followed her inside, both looking as worn and tattered as their sister. The three walked without care of decorum, practically running to his study._

 _"Father!" she cried upon throwing the doors to the side. "We have encountered a slight problem," she began, chasing the tremor out of her voice as she spoke. She would not show fear – not to him. It would only be a cause of disappointment and perhaps even the desire to pull her from the field._

 _Elrond's eyes widened with alarm when he looked at his children, seeing them all carrying weights in their eyes that had not been there previously. Nevertheless, he remained sitting in his seat, sighing and holding his temples. "It is as I feared," he muttered._

 _Elrohir came to their father and knelt before him. "Orcs, Father. They have entered the Misty Mountains, and they do not appear to desire to leave soon."_

 _"The Dwarves certainly were not kind enough to receive our help properly," Arathell growled darkly. "Their stench almost rivals the Orcs; it would have been hard to distinguish friend from foe without the heavy beards they all adorned."_

 _"Enough," Elladan commanded, holding his hand up to silence his sister. She scoffed, but did not say anymore. "Father, there is more. The Nazgûl returns."_

 _Elrond sighed once more. "The enemy has been contained," he said slowly, looking at his children firmly. While her brothers nodded with confirmation, she rolled her eyes and marched to his desk, pressing her bloody hands on his papers and staring him in the eye._

 _"For how long?" she whispered ominously. "Their foothold was in the East, not so far to the West. Their arm has grown and one must wonder if it will continue to grow."_

 _Her father shook his head. "You stopped them, stunting this growth."_

 _She grimaced and waved her hand in front of her face. "They are dark breeds, my lord. They are not like us. If they can stand to be tortured to the point of becoming a whole new species, I do not doubt their ability to regrow another arm."_

* * *

 _ **T.A. 1437 – Osgiliath, Gondor**_

 _"My lady?" she heard and turned back with a tear-stained face to her next in command. "There is nothing_ _more that we can do."_

 _She nodded and turned back forward. An Elf ran to her and she waited expectantly, waiting for news from the King. "The palantir that was here is missing, my Lady Arathell."_

 _She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Osgiliath burns and the alliance loses a palantir," she concluded. "Lindir, you are correct: there is nothing more we can do. It seems that Gondor will always require the help of the Elves and each time they stretch out their hand, I am less willing to come to their aid. Men of Númenor or not – nothing is worth the death of my men."_

 _"You intend to forsake them?!" Lindir demanded with a gasp._

 _She shook her head and moved to her horse, straddling it. "My sister was born to look for hope. She seems to have taken both of our portions in this area, dear Lindir. My bowl is empty. But no. I will not forsake the world of Men. I simply will have to become wiser so as to compensate their idiocy to protect my own."_

* * *

 _ **T.A. 1640 – Minas Anor, Gondor**_

 _The sapling rested in the ground, embracing the rays of the sun in Minas Anor. She pulled her hood tightly around her head in the midst of Men. The people revered this plant much like people of her race revered the trees. This was something truly beautiful indeed, the trait having been strong enough to pass down through races to live still in its descendants._

 _"You carry a great burden, little one," she whispered. "A burden that can be felt throughout all of Middle Earth – by all races. You unite them under your branches – do not give under the pressure of the cold or wind. Trees are meant to endure for an age."_

* * *

 _ **T.A. 1975 – The Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _"The Shadow returns," the whispers sounded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another Elf named Glorfindel hold the people back as he entered the city at her side on his own stallion. She saw him looking concernedly at her, but she paid him no mind, racing on ahead to get away from the world. Battle-worn and exhausted, she trusted that her brothers would relay the information to their father. She could still smell the stench of blood adorning her body and making her feel violated and dirty. Every crack of her form was mixed with her blood, sweat and dirt. Her muscles ached from the long ride home, and her heart ached even more from the sheer terror she was still feeling. Everything_ hurt.

 _Kastun was put in the stables, the horse looking old as it rested. She knew that she was being unreasonable, drawing more life from him every trip she made to foreign lands. The once pitch black pelt he had was grey and thin and his eyes were glassy from all of the horrors he had never expected to see. She felt awful for him. She scratched his face gently, pushing her forehead against her friend's. "No more, mellon nin. You need not serve my reckless wishes any longer." The horse understood and made a mumbling noise that made her smile. "Guards!" she called. "Fetch him enough apples to fill his stable." Kastun neighed gratefully._

 _The scalding hot water melted the caked on dirt off of her coarse skin. She moaned at the feel of it and drew out a cloth, scrubbing at the more determined spots. She looked at the long scar across her chest, cursing herself for not reacting fast enough when the blade reached for her. She was young and should not have reacted so slowly. Her mind, though born only recently, felt old and bored of the life she lived. Arathell felt lost in the world she had made for herself and even alone._

 _The skin that had once been so flawless and smooth, a gift that was given to her at birth, was now marred and rough. She did not resemble a Lady of the Eldar. She looked broken, and she felt this way too. She scrubbed harder at her skin, as if to wash away even the calloused layers in her hands and feet. She scrubbed at her scars, hoping that they too would disappear with enough soap._

 _Nothing worked._

 _She emerged from her bath and walked to her wardrobe. Her father had given her two, one of which she never used. It held dresses and the like, things that could only be worn briefly when it came to her. For there was always another adventure that called for the other wardrobe, filled with the finest armor an Elven maiden could ask for. Breeches felt more comfortable to her than skirts and corsets. A scepter would have felt heaver in her hand than a sword._

 _Arathell swallowed, standing before them both. Reaching forward, she opened one and heard the hinges let out a light groan._

 _After dressing, she walked to her father's study, walking in only a moment later. She looked down at the cobblestone floor and linked her fingers together._

 _Her brothers and father naturally were present to inform her father of all that had taken place during the battle. She saw Glorfindel present as well with a look in his eye that notified her that he knew more than he was showing._

 _"Little sister," Elladan said with wide eyes. "Too long has it been since we have seen you in the garb of a noble Elven lady. I quite forgot how beautiful you truly are." She pretended that the comment didn't sting her and stared straight ahead. It was yet another reminder that she did not belong – even in her world._

 _She scratched at the material and met her brother's eyes. "I have seen enough of the world for now," she said quietly. "My mind needs time to dissect the everything I have seen. I am sure that my brothers and Lord Glorfindel can inform you justly of what it was we saw."_

 _Elladan grasped her arm and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. "What did Angmar do to you, sister?" he whispered._

 _Her father and other brother approached her slowly, all three showing signs of distress in their eyes. Only Glorfindel remained behind. "Arathell, show me," her father commanded. "It may be within my skill to heal."_

 _She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "It has already healed as much as it ever will, Father," she said sadly, but pulled off her outer coat regardless so that she stood only in her dress for her family to see. The scar that now adorned her chest was long and reddened. The veins surrounding it were enunciated on the skin, the entire area making it look like a failed decapitation._

 _"This should have been fatal," Elrond commented, looking frightened._

 _She shrugged. "I cannot explain it, Father. His sword struck me and I fell. I think he presumed me dead, and I even felt that I was dying." She shivered and closed her eyes. "But my eyes opened again, and I carried on fighting. It must have stopped bleeding whilst battling. I have no other explanation."_

 _"And you have not treated it since?" he asked._

 _Arathell shook her head. "No. I feel the evil from his blade inside of me. I can see the damage he has caused and I can simply know that it is a pain and a scar that will never leave me. It is not meant to."_

 _Elrond sighed and reached for her, but she pulled away, afraid of the touch of another._

 _"He has been defeated," the golden-haired lord mentioned behind her. "I have driven him away, myself, if only for the present. As I have stated to your father and to your brothers, from what I saw, I do not believe that he is a being that could ever be killed by any man. He is the first of the Nine and the most powerful – he has already left for a world of shadows and cannot be killed in any way we know of. But he has been driven away. You need not fear."_

 _Arathell only gave a slight nod to the words. She hugged her coat closer to herself, covering the scar from their inquisitive eyes. "I do not wish to leave. I will stay with Arwen and wish you well from here." Her eyes watered and she looked at her father with a trembling lip. "I have failed you, Father. You were right all along. War is the province of men. I should have listened to your wisdom when you first tried to tell me." Elrond tried to stop her speech but she raised her hand. "I would be very grateful if we not speak of my indiscretion henceforth."_

 _Elrond frowned and lifted her chin. "My daughter, you have done better than I ever could have hoped. You asked for my support a millennium ago when you bore this warrior notion, and I did not brood for fifty years to have you take away your own dream."_

 _She violently shook her head, blinking back tears as her breathing hastened. "It is not my dream rather my nightmare. And it haunts me."_

 _"No," Elrond claimed with a firm voice. "Arathell, it will haunt you until you face it once more. Your presence incites hope for the men when we enter troubled times. I give you everything you desire, but I will not give you release. While it would soothe my heart to know you are safe behind these walls and I would not have to worry about three children, it would spilt my mind and tear at my conscience. You will continue as a Captain, Arathell, and that is an order."_

 _Her bottom lip trembled but she met her father's gaze strongly, unwilling to show defeat, especially in front of her fellow Captain, Glorfindel. She had never been incredibly comfortable around the Elf and was not about to show weakness when he could potentially see it. "I need time away from war then," she compromised. "Give me at least five hundred years."_

 _Her father was torn on the idea, and she knew this, but she stared at him unwavering. "You may have this," he finally agreed._

* * *

 **There you have it! Things in this particular chapter will be making reappearances throughout the story, so remember it!**

 **For those that did not catch it, Arathell did go to Minas Anor, which would later be called Minas Tirith to see the original White Tree get planted. :)**

 **Please leave a review, my lovelies! I would love, love, love to hear your opinion on this chapter. It's a big one!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, my dears! So sorry that this was not up sooner! I intended to update yesterday, but life got in the way unfortunately. But it is all better now!**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Had a couple of new people leave comments and they make my day so thank you soooo much! I can already tell that some friendships are going to be made. :)**

 **And as one of my new friends has said, the time jumps can be a little confusing; I know. I do apologize, but there are many things that need to be covered before we actually get to the meat and potatoes of the story. Anyone who does have questions about any of the years, please do not be afraid to ask! Everything that happens here is merely an embellished history lesson. Each date can be found in the appendices at the end of the series, but as I said, if anything is unclear to you, please ask! Even if that means what Arathell's significance at that place and time is.**

 **Oh, and crazy person that I am, I forget to wish everybody a Happy Fourth! Hope everyone had as much fun as I did!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing from either Tolkien or Jackson - just my lovely Arathell.**

* * *

Part One - Life is Beautiful

Radioactive - Imagine Dragons

"I raise my flags, don my clothes  
It's a revolution, I suppose  
We'll paint it red to fit right in  
Whoa"

 _ **T.A. 2063 – Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _She trailed her finger over the maps edges, wondering for a moment what kinds of wonders could lay beyond such borders. Was the world infinite? Were there places where the darkness had not touched? Were there people in this world who never knew pain or anguish? It was a sickening thought, if it was true. Why was she charged to suffer here, with no hope, with only a scar on her chest and no home? What had she done?_

 _Her finger tapped Dol-Guldur, sensing the evil festering there from afar. She did not know what it was, but when she reached her mind out to find Mithrandir, all she could see was darkness. There was no light, only cold stone enveloping him. He was afraid, but he would not show it._

 _It would take weeks before the Grey Pilgrim marched into their halls. His face was grim, but he would not answer any of their questions. He merely told them all that the problem had been handled and now a Peace would hopefully preside over their dominion. A Watchful Peace, he had said. She couldn't guess what he meant by that._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2460 - Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _Arathell had yet to become fond of decorated clothing; she still found it constricting even after five hundred years. Though the garment was flowing and silky, she couldn't help but feel trapped by the duties that came with the embroidery._

 _Despite needing time for her mind to breathe fresh air, her hand ached to hold her sword again. She often sat secluded in her room, not as vehemently as her last attempt at isolation, but there was a solace she could find when she was alone. She would trace the intricate patterns on her hilt, holding the sword as if it weighed nothing. It was a mere extension of her body and she knew in her heart of hearts that she was not meant to rule a people, but to lead an army._

 _A knock at her door startled her from her thoughts and she spun around quickly, her sword poised to strike. Lindir walked into her room, at ease with her threatening posture. While the love for her family was boundless, it was no secret that she loved Lindir's presence the greatest. Her greatest ally and her greatest friend, she sometimes entertained the thought that he could be more to her than just that._

 _They had fallen into that embrace only a decade after her encounter with Angmar. Her family simply said that they were closer because he had been of her garrison and she took comfort in him. If Lord Elrond knew the true extent of their relationship, she knew that Lindir would be sent away and never seen again. They were not in love and they did not pretend that they were. They were friends that used each other's bodies to find solace._

 _"Lady Galadriel is here, mellon," he said, closing the door behind him as he walked inside. "Her gaze is troubled. She even brings a guard, the new March Warden, Haldir. I have spoken to you of him before."_

 _Arathell nodded and lowered her weapon, resting it back in its sheath. "You say that he could not be a greater fit for the position. And you highly praise his technique in sparring."_

 _She knew very well how treacherous her relationship with Lindir was. Elves loved once in their lives and were pure until they found their other half. And this other half could not be just anyone in their proximity. There was only ever one meant for each. She never counted on falling in love with anyone, but she knew that if she did, they would not be pleased to find her impure. Lindir had soiled her, but at least he could pretend to be pure upon meeting his One. She could not even do that. Lindir had resisted for ten years, but she had won in the end, as she won everything. And somehow, she couldn't relinquish this hold over her friend. He still didn't like it; she knew this, but the damage had been done. Every time they engaged in the act, he was less difficult to persuade. She could even dare to believe that he enjoyed it, something that she couldn't quite claim for herself. She was using him, and she knew that. He gave her a moment of peace in her mind and made her feel alive for a flicker of time. She had learned to crave those moments where her mind would vacate her body and she could just act and move._

 _"I find myself with an ache, Lindir," she whispered, resting her hand on her womb. "Would you care to ease my ache?"_

 _Lindir stiffened, as he did every time she suggested it. "Lady Galadriel waits," he denied._

 _Arathell chuckled and walked to her friend, kissing his cheek tenderly. "I know. I merely wanted to see how you would act. Rest assured; my appetite is still sated from yesterday's conquests." She made to leave the room, but he fiercely grabbed her arm and stared at her. "Oh, is your hunger back?" she teased._

 _He shook his head. "I have met someone, Arathell," he said simply. "I believe she is my One."_

 _She raised her head in understanding and retrieved her arm. Her heart burst with anguish at the news, but she was stronger than this. She would not give him the pleasure that he could actually hurt her. But hurt her, he had. "Then I will not tempt you any longer. I will put in the request for a new man in my garrison."_

 _He nodded his head and grasped her face sweetly, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I wish you joy, Arathell – all of the joy in the world."_

 _"It is improper for a simple Elven warrior to touch a lady's face," she finished, pushing his hands away and walking out the doors of her room. She felt stung by his utter denial, but she would hide this. She would bury the hurt and wear the mask she had perfected long ago. It all fell back to this mask – the one who had never left her._

 _She walked outdoors to find her father, Galadriel, her brothers, Saruman, Glorfindel, and the mysterious Elf waiting. Her eyes were drawn to the solitary stranger, seeing his silvery blond hair wave in the wind. He was handsome to be sure, and she had always loved their hair more than her own. It made them fairer, like the light of the sun._

 _"Lady Arathell," he greeted, pressing his broad hand to his chest and extending it outward towards her. She repeated the gesture and took the remaining seat next to her brother Elrohir and the newcomer. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Your stories are well known to my people. I am the March Warden, Haldir of Lórien."_

 _She inclined her head. "You will have to forgive me for not knowing of you until recently. You are new to the Captain position, are you not?"_

 _He smiled. "I am, my lady."_

 _"When I was made aware of your new position, I also heard that your swordplay is magnificent. I would love to spar with you in the future and see if your skill is truly as perfected as the legends say," she told him, batting her eyelashes slightly._

 _"We may have need to actual fighting in the future," Saruman interrupted and she scowled at him. "We have heard tell that Sauron has returned to Dol-Guldur."_

 _Arathell scoffed. "Since when has there not been issue at the fortress? Where is Mithrandir? I would like to hear his words regarding the matter."_

 _Saruman glared at her. "My Lord Elrond, your daughter should know when she speaks out of turn. It is most unbecoming of a Lady of the Elves."_

 _She couldn't stop the snarl that erupted from her throat. "It is this Lady of the Elves that has protected the West and the East for centuries, Saruman. She will speak as she thinks, as is her earned right. Until I see you on the battlefield, you are no more than a rich man with more arrogance than is called for," she snapped._

 _"Arathell!" Elrond yelled, silencing her. He turned to Saruman and gestured for him to speak._

 _Saruman sneered at her, but she paid no mind. She knew of her father's opinions of the Wizard and knew that her father could only be upset with how she handled the situation, not for her thoughts. "His strength is gathering. If we could but find the One Ring, we may be able to cut off any further action. Had Isildur thrown the weapon in the cracks of Orodruin when it first came to him, we would not have these qualms."_

 _"He would have no part of it," Elrond disagreed with a frown. "I did try to show him, but he refused to see. Men are weaker than even the Dwarves in their minds."_

 _"If you walked with him to the Mountain, you would have done better to simply push him into the fires yourself instead of trifling with words like these now," Saruman argued harshly, and Arathell felt her stomach clench of any being speaking in such a way to her father._

 _"To push the King of Gondor?" she growled. "That comes from the man who claims to love living things and has sworn an oath to protect all that is good in this world," she finished._

 _"Keep your thoughts behind your teeth, girl," Saruman urged, waving her off as if she was no one. Infuriated, she stood from her seat and marched to the other head of the table. "Here we are at peace," he told her, not even looking at her. "Are you willing to forfeit that peace by attacking out of emotion?" he laughed while the others stared angrily at the Wizard. "What can you do, girl?"_

 _"I can remove you from this seat, my lord," she said as calmly as she could. "For a man that insults my father and abuses our hospitality does not deserve to sit at the head of any table whilst I am here. These are my halls, and my chair, and I would sit in it."_

 _"Sit down, Sister," Elrohir, ever the peaceful pleaded._

 _"I will sit in the seat Lord Saruman occupies," she replied._

 _"Now!" Elrond yelled and she started, looking at her father and feeling betrayed. "If you cannot stay quiet, then I would ask you to leave."_

 _She held her head high. "I have heard enough besides. The predicted has happened and so has its response. We can do nothing but wait until the Ring surfaces again. Until then, we must assume that Sauron does not have it and we can only pray to the Valar that he will never have it." She quitted the room, her flowing grey skirts dragging leaves with her._

 _Tears stung her eyes and at that moment, she craved for Lindir, if not for his touch, then his compassion. There was no greater friend than him. When she felt a hand touch her shoulder, she spun quickly expecting it to be him, but only frowned when she saw Haldir. "My lord," she greeted with a small curtsy._

 _"I have never been to Rivendell," he mentioned, taking her hand and placing a kiss on the back of it tenderly. "I would be honored if I were to receive a tour."_

 _She gave the Elven warrior a sarcastic smile and arched an eyebrow. "Then I am sure you will find an Elf in a much better temperament than I. As you can clearly see, my mind is plagued with thoughts that not even one who basks in the light of Lady Galadriel will be able to cure. I sincerely hope that you enjoy your stay in Imladris and find it most informative on how the Elves of Rivendell live." Arathell didn't give him a chance to retort, walking away with her head held high and her shadowy skirts flowing behind her in a storm of pride._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2475 - Imladris**_

 _The news didn't shock her anymore when she received it. Elrohir grasped her shoulder as he explained the fall of Osgiliath. Sauron's strength was returning with a force even her father feared. He would hide her from it; she had seen that firsthand. But she had grown old enough now to know when her father's eyes were playing a trick on her. For the last decade, she had grown accustomed to seeing a glimmer in his grey eyes, as if waiting for the tear to drip down his carved face._

 _Arathell nodded and rested her head against her brother's. "I am needed once more am I not?" she asked, though she poised the words as a statement. Her brother shook his head fiercely, but she hugged him close and kissed his forehead with sisterly affection. "I promised our father that I would return to what I am best at. I have rested my mind and soul for five hundred years, as he promised me, and now I must return my end of the deal. My armor will need polishing," she murmured, pulling away and giving him a harsh smile. "I want the glint of the sun bouncing off of my chest plate to be the last thing any opponent sees."_

* * *

 **There is the next chapter! I am curious to see what you all think about Arathell and Lindir. Or maybe even Arathell and Haldir? Again, this is important down the line. Most of the chapters from here on out will be later brought up further down the line, multiple times. So if there is any confusion now, please speak up!**

 **Oh, and obviously go check out the song if you don't know it! I will honestly be shocked if you don't. :)**

 **Hope that scratches any romantic itch you guys have been craving. It can only grow, so stick with me!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, lovelies! I am so so so sorry for the delay. I already had this chapter ready to upload and everything and would you believe it - my internet crashed! So until today, I have been without internet and let me tell you... I was close to brown-bagging it. Haha not really but almost!**

 **I hope you all have stuck with me! I am pretty confident in my abilities to update at a much faster tempo and if I can't, I will be sure to let you all know. This internet thing caught me off guard is all. :)**

 **Thanks to those who reviewed. I enjoyed reading them a great deal and I liked seeing all of the speculation about which one she would pair off with. Heehee, I love my mysteries!**

 **To compensate for such tardiness, I am throwing you guys almost an extra thousand words more than usual! :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Tolkien and his blessed Middle Earth. I do, however, own rights to Arathell.**

* * *

Part One - Life is Beautiful

Stay - Black Stone Cherry

"But if I told you I loved you would it make you wanna stay  
I'm sorry for the way I make you feel day after day  
And if I wrote you a love song and sang it to you everyday  
Would it ever be enough to make you wanna come back home to stay"

 _ **T.A. 2509 – Woods of Lothlórien**_

 _Arathell felt the worry emanating off of her person, radiating into her mount below her. The grey pelt of Daeroch shuddered every now and then, but she did not stop running. Paths to Lothlórien were still open to pass, and for that, the Elven lady was grateful. She could not bear to ride through the endless tunnels of Moria or climb over a mountain._

 _With her brown Elven eyes, she could see the extents of the trees slowly coming into focus. When she finally reached the borders of her kin, she dismounted, and walked quickly through the woods, feeling the earth breathe under her in deep calming tones. She paid no heed and walked, knowing that her feet had memorized the path before her memory had been set in stone. Arathell could not remember a time when she did not know how to reach her grandmother's dwellings._

 _Despite the urgency to get to her destination, she froze, her hand twitching for the sword that was clasped around her. Knowing where she was though and in whose company she kept, she ignored the urge and focused on how quickly she could notch an arrow to her bow, should the need arise, of course. "Whoever you are, I can assure you from my not only my heart, but my father, Lord Elrond's, that you should not be hindering my journey. Walk away now, and I shall forget of your ignorance and go along my way," she announced._

 _Sensing that the Elf did not depart, she had no choice but she draw her weapon, pointing it beyond a tree fifty meters away. "Haldir," she breathed, relaxing her arm as she watched him and his men walk gracefully up to her. "I could have shot you, mellon."_

 _The Elf warrior smiled at her and extended his greetings with his chest. "The folk of Imladris may be wiser, but their aim is never as true at the aim of my people, the Galadhrim. It is you who would have been shot."_

 _Arathell rolled her eyes and reached to stroke absentmindedly at the muzzle of her horse who was easily sensing her impatience. "You have no doubt heard of my mother's predicament," she drawled. "You had best hope that her health returns to allow you to impugn a daughter from her mother."_

 _Haldir frowned and they began walking again, her heart feeling more at ease as she knew she was closing the distance between her and her injured kin. However, a friend such as Haldir should have known better than to walk as slowly as he was. At the moment, Arathell wanted nothing more than to burst into long strides and envelope her mother in a tight embrace, but she refrained. She mentally scoffed to herself – perhaps lessons in respect didn't completely lose their worth. "The wound was drenched in poison, my lady."_

 _Arathell nodded and began taking longer strides, making the blond swarm move their feet quicker on their precious earth. "I have heard as much. The Orcs grow stronger day by day, and for this reason, sometimes I find it hard to be of Elf-kind." She felt the probing question from all of the men's minds behind her. She sighed in dismay but carried on. "I see our defeat as a gradual process, instead of one fell swoop that would claim us all like a wave claims a vessel. Time is slower as an Elf, and I do not imagine that mere Elf ladies are the endgame of one as mighty as Sauron, no. Not only will this evil fall like rain droplets, but we will be forced to live through more of it until his flood claims us all."_

 _Customary to Haldir's steadfast belief in hope, he carried on as if she had not spoken, probably not wanting to dissuade his company from falling into despair. "We have abundant athelas here. Her wound was healed and she awaits her daughter's company to ride back home."_

 _Arathell sighed with relief but did not pause for a moment along the path, now only more eager to bring her mother home where she would surely be safe._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2510 - Imladris**_

 _A warrior, whether they are male or female, is trained at a young age that they should never show fear in the face of an adversary. They would stand tall and face whatever fate the Valar deemed appropriate. All days, Arathell lived by this golden rule. True, her training started later than most, but even before she had taken to the sword and war, Arathell rarely exposed her true emotion to anyone outside of the wise family. They would see her outbursts, but even then, none had really seen the madness and the torment within her. War had done more to her than she had ever indicated to anyone._

 _Today was a different day for Arathell Duvainith. Today, she would abandon the mask she had worked so carefully to create. Today, she would rue all of the times she turned her head away from the being that gave her life. Today, the four Elves would lose their mother and a husband would lose his wife to the promised land of Valinor. She would be the last person to discount the religion of her people, as she loved the Valar as she loved the earth they had blessed her with. But at this moment, she could not deny that she felt a vine of animosity ensnare her heart. She loved her mother and Arathell was well aware that she was a selfish Elf compared to the whole of her people, but she could not find it in her at the moment to care about reputation. She scoffed at the thought – she rarely ever gave heed to reputation._

 _Daeroch moved beneath her mechanically, taking her to the stables of home where she would say goodbye to her elder._

 _She dismounted and patted the horse affectionately on the neck, whispering words of comfort to herself or the horse; she couldn't be sure._

 _Arathell kept her mask on for the time being, hoisting her skirts slightly as she walked up the stairs and into the halls of her home. The air was quiet, the wind having taken stubborn refuge from Celebrían's departure. When she walked to her mother's room, she was unsurprised to see her three siblings gathered around the blonde matriarch in the center._

 _"There is my love," she heard her mother coo and Arathell dropped the mask and pushed her brothers aside to kneel at the feet of her mother, trying to hold in tears. A quick glance at her sister showed her clearly that Arwen had already relented to despair's clutches. "I have my noble love," she purred, touching Elrohir's cheek with love. She looked at Elladan and touched his cheek as well. "I have my courageous love." She withdrew her hands and placed them both on Arwen's cheeks. "I have my bright love," she said, placing a kiss on her forehead. Celebrían then moved to Arathell. "And I have my dark, but no less beautiful love." Arathell closed her eyes and felt her mother's lips pressed against her skin tenderly. "The Valar could not have given me a better purpose than to bring the four of you into this beautiful world."_

 _Arathell shook her head and placed her head on her mother's knee, holding her ankle as if to tether her to the floor. "Mother, you need not leave," she begged. "Your wound has healed better than we could have hoped for, and you are safe here. Will you not stay?"_

 _She felt smooth fingers run through her brown hair. "It has always been curious to me why you of my four should have tresses the color of bark on the tall trees. Brown, when you come from Black and Honeyed Gold. You used to be so pale, as if the sun has never touched you, and now your skin looks as dark at the sunset, full of color."_

 _Arathell looked up at her mother, tears slowly dripping from her eyes. "I ask you to not leave and you pose a question of physical traits?"_

 _Her mother took her chin and stroked her face, smiling. "One may sometimes say that you were meant for the Wild. Maybe that is why you ran from my embrace so much. You never found your true home to be here and you are now searching for where it is that you belong."_

 _"I belong with my family," Arathell said vehemently, the tears of sadness leaving while tears of frustration entered her brown eyes. "You belong with your family, why can you not stay?"_

 _Her mother shook her head and turned to Arwen. "My evening star," she cooed while Arathell was still fuming beside her. "Your heart has ever hoped for the intangible. I would pray that you hold steadfast to these beliefs and never lose your faith that good can happen, even when the world is shrouded with cloud and darkness. You have such a loving heart; I would hate to see it broken by anyone." She stared at her oldest daughter for a moment, and Arathell would have pondered those words if she were not still so troubled with the words directed at her. "I must take my leave now. My ship awaits me." She stood from her bed, her marbled gown flowing like a river of light around her. Galadriel had made no pitiful offspring, rather a creature that could have rivaled the beauty of Lúthien had she not bore Arwen Undómiel._

 _"They can wait," Arathell said brusquely, grasping her mother's hands. "What if we need you?"_

 _"I believe you mean to ask 'what if_ I _need you?'" her mother corrected with a knowing smile. "My daughter, my ear was always open for your voice, but I heard no sound. As cruel hearted as the truth is you simply never took advantage of it. This was a device of your own making and you know very well of the terms 'consequences' and 'actions.'" Celebrían sighed. "Nevertheless, my ear will always hear the cries of my children and advice will always find some way of being given, whether it is through my words through another's mouth or my beliefs through nature's courses. Does that comfort you?"_

 _Arathell scoffed. "I suppose I have no choice in the matter," she harrumphed._

 _"There's the spirit, my dark love," her mother said cheekily. "Well, my being now departs from this world, but be assured my darlings that my love will never know another home than the ones in your hearts." She kissed each of their foreheads and walked with grace out of the room. Elrohir and Elladan followed, both going with their father to the Grey Havens to see her safely aboard a ship._

 _"What do you suppose her words to you meant?" she heard from her left and saw her sister battling her emotions. Clearly, she was looking for a way to take her mind off of the separation and despair that was looking for a foothold in her heart._

 _"Sister, have I been a wretched daughter to my mother?" she asked, swallowing a lump in her throat._

 _"Our mother holds no ill will towards any of us."_

 _"Arwen, she believes I have taken her station as my kin for granted! And now I cannot apologize or make up for the time that is lost. My heart feels heavy with this burden of tardiness. Now she will never know the extent of my love for her. She is lost to me."_

 _Her sister hugged her close and rocked her. "You forget, my Duvainith that I was there to see her first expression to you. She was the first to hold you and shower affection upon you. I see that expression every time you are in her gaze. A mother's love is perhaps one of the true loves that never wanes. If anything, I suspect that it waxes until they cannot love you anymore and they go to the Valar to gain access to this pool of waxed love they could not touch here on this earth."_

 _The younger chuckled and sniffled, and pulled away, smiling at her sister. "I do not believe that any other could have hope as you do. Perhaps you have taken my share for yourself and have thereby left me with none."_

 _Arwen smiled. "If we are the only two maidens of Elrond's court left, I do believe that it is best to stick together or we will be trampled by the power of our older family. We cannot allow them to think they have the advantage over ones as mighty as us," she teased._

 _Arathell laughed at that. "My sister, you could not be more correct in your statement."_

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2570 – Somewhere in the Misty Mountains**_

 _The roads through the Misty Mountains had always been her least favorite. They were cramped and infested with beasts fouler than the air. Perhaps it was them who made it foul to begin with; she couldn't remember the rock ever smelling pleasant._

 _"Why are we here, Elladan?" she asked as they made their way over a treacherous pass. She had heard of the thunder battles that took place in these mountains, and she knew that thunder would soon be bellowing over the mountains in a few days' time. She could only pray that they would be out of the mountains by then._

 _Arathell heard her brother scoff at her in dismissal. "Thranduil speaks of Dragons, Sister mine!" he said excitedly._

 _The younger rolled her eyes, wishing at that moment for her sister. They had indeed become close since their mother's departure, and while Arwen's wisdom could not begin to compare to that of their mother, she was a confidant that Arathell had not had since Lindir had been in her bed. And he had only become more elusive as his courtship to a maiden increased in fervor. But somewhere in her soul, she felt that connection with her kin begin to stretch and tug painfully. With the little foresight she had, Arathell knew that someday in the future, her beautiful connection with her sister would sever. Perhaps not in a dark and explosive way, but it would sever._

 _"He was titled as a king last I heard," she said as they came to pause on a cliff. "Or have our Woodland kin finally grasped his need for the dramatic and removed him for his tree throne? For a ruler, he is perhaps the only Elf in existence who is more selfish than I am."_

 _Elladan gave her a sharp look, one she had become callous to over the millennia. "You will remember his rank while we are in his presence, Sister," he said with a more stern voice. "I have heard tale that he looks to rid this earth of these serpents. This does not sound like the act of a self-righteous king. His son, Legolas, looks on to help in this venture. I believe that it is safe to say that the Greenwood will remain evergreen as long as either of them is on the throne."_

 _She scoffed and sat, reaching into her pack to take a piece of lembas bread. "Which is made of a tree," she mentioned with a giggle. "Even our father is sure to have a better throne than him."_

 _"We are not royalty, Arathell," her brother scorned._

 _She shrugged. "No, but we are only the wisest of all of our kin in Middle Earth. King, he may be, but his intelligence could not even surpass the lamest of our own. He crowns himself in berries and assumes that he has the right to rule. The other provinces of our kin are not so arrogant as to even claim kingship over their lands, only lordship. I do not like him, Elladan," she told him stoutly. "And I do not like his kin either."_

 _"We come from a line of kings, Arathell," he reminded._

 _Arathell waved her hand away at the comment. "It was Father who agreed that while he had the privilege to rule, he found it more suitable to become a Lord of Rivendell instead. He has long instilled in us in his own way that being a king and being looked at as royalty do not necessarily mean the same things and nor should you expect one if you have the other."_

 _"Well, you haven't met Legolas as least. What grudge could possibly bear against him?"_

 _"My gift allows me to see through veils, Brother; you know this."_

 _"You have not even seen his veil!"_

 _"His veil is as visible to me now as you are," she replied with a shrug._

 _"What about his quest to rid the world of Dragons?" he asked with a smug smile, as if suspecting he had won their game._

 _She pondered this for a moment, extending the bounds of her gift to find the two's profiles. Thranduil's aura was much more potent than his son's. He was firm and set in his ways, but there was a weak spot in his walls when it came to the Prince. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was Prince Legolas to suggest the deed," she finally surmised._

 _"And you still hate him?" Elladan asked._

 _"He is beneath me," she stated obviously._

 _"And this calls for hatred on your part?"_

 _"No, his arrogance calls for this," she reassured._

 _"Does it rival your own?" he teased._

 _"I have a right to have confidence regarding myself. I am the daughter of Lord Elrond, wisest of all Elves and one of the greatest warriors the Elves have been given," she relayed._

 _"And you don't call that arrogance?"_

 _"It's not arrogance if it is true," she snapped. "Even you cannot best me in a duel." She frowned. "So what are you doing exactly? Has Thranduil called for aid?"_

 _Elladan sighed. "Father wants to know the truth of Thranduil's words. As you have so acutely mentioned, the King is subject to dramatics. He claims there are dozens of the vile things everywhere, terrorizing and burning as they go."_

 _She raised an eyebrow at the new information. "Dragons, if I recall correctly, do not often desire twigs and trees," she started slowly, trying to gather all of the facts to her mind. "They crave treasure; something that a Dwarf heart will yearn for. If there were to be any calamity caused by a Dragon, it would be drawn to the Dwarves, not the Elves. If the Dragons are close to his homeland, then this means that Thranduil has something of value that he must protect." She scoffed and took out her dagger, beginning to sharpen it on a nearby rock. "Could it be that King Thranduil of the Woodland realm has a case of Dragon sickness?"_

 _"Too much speculation, for my taste," her brother said gruffly, and she rolled her eyes._

 _"Hence why Father probably requested me to go with you, Brother," she teased._

* * *

 **Well, there you have it. Mama is gone - everyone say your goodbyes! That was her last appearance in this story, though she never had a big role to begin with. Hope no one minded the slight Thranduil bashing. He isn't going to be well-liked, but it will be minimal to the actual story to bear with me if you are angry. Haha**

 **Again, this was a fairly critical chapter. "Daeroch" is the name of her new horse and means (appropriately) "Shadow Horse." And, I hope you caught it, Arathell has a second name now, called "Duvainith." I'm not going to tell you what it means though. I will gladly take guesses, and I should say that you have already been given a HUGE hint. ;) I suppose I should also mention here that all name creations (save Arathell which actually has a meaning coincidentally) were made from realelvish . net. I swear that site is my savior. I guess if you were burning with the desire to know what both of Arathell's names mean, you can look them up there. I will not be telling the answer regardless if you guess correctly. There is a chapter in the future that will have explicit definitions. But keep both names in mind because they are going to be important throughout the rest of the story.**

 **As always, check out the song that I also do not own. And leave a review with your guesses and how you liked the extra long chapter? Or questions! Eventually most chapter lengths will about this or even longer. :)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, everyone! Thanks to those who have reviewed! It seems to be the same four people each time. And as much as I LOVE them, I'd really like to hear from all of you! It gives me a little more perspective and then I know what works and what doesn't. The story is practically all written. I'm in the middle of Return of the King right now and am having soooo much fun. I can't wait for us to be there. But please review! Thanks!**

 **I also really loved hearing your guesses as to what her second name means. None of you took a stab at "Arathell" but that is fine. Builds it all up for the big reveal. :)**

 **This is an exciting chapter. We get to meet someone... ;)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to or affiliated with Professor Tolkien or the movie adaptations of Peter Jackson. I own Arathell and that's it... for now.**

* * *

Part One - Life is Beautiful

Yellow Flicker Beat - Lorde

"I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm.  
And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold.  
My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones,  
It keeps my veins hot, the fire's found a home in me.  
I move through town, I'm quiet like a fight.  
And my necklace is of rope, I tie it and untie."

 _ **T.A. 2758 - Imladris**_

 _"I do not understand how we can sit here in these halls when there are people out there being slaughtered and mutilated like common cattle!" she screamed, taking hold of her father's arm harshly. He did not meet her gaze but pulled away from her. "Father, it is true that we are different from them; we are wiser and more steadfast. But we are so similar! We bleed red, just like them, and we breathe the same air! If we abandon them, what hope will we have for ourselves when evil looks for us?" she whispered, feeling tears enter her eyes. "My conscience will never be clear if I let this happen. Not to my family."_

 _Elrond looked at her and touched her cheek delicately with a warm smile. "You have become wise, Arathell Duvainith. I was ever worried about your heart and how cold it would get, but this reassures me greatly." He sighed and nodded. "I will not send my own troops, for they do not number much, however, I would ask that you go to Lothlórien and consult Lady Galadriel about your beliefs. She has always had an ear to listen to you, my daughter." Arathell nodded and moved to go to her room to pack. "But Arathell," he called, stopping her. "Take your sister," he begged. "If evil is surrounding us, then she needs to be safe. I would have her be protected better." Arathell nodded._

* * *

 _Her sister was as silent as the grave as they made their way into the silvery trees of Lothlórien. It seemed to be a trait that all in their family possessed, not only to be quiet, but to perceive reality in the clearest of pictures. True, Arwen's perception could sometimes be shrouded with hope, but not even that could prevent her from seeing the world disintegrating around her._

 _Elrohir's hope dwindled day by day and he saw everything even more clearly than Arwen. However, he looked more at the figures of what was occurring: how many troops each domain had lost, how many from the enemy were marching and where they were all marching to. Arwen saw the sadness of the people and didn't like looking at the numbers. She couldn't bear to be desensitized._

 _Elladan's smile, which had once been such an everyday occurrence, was now a rare event. Even when he did smile, Arathell could clearly see how broken it was. He would ride hard into battle with such confidence, only to come back with hunched shoulders and with fewer numbers than he left with. Arathell felt like she was witnessing the slow death of her brother, who was being taken by a slow moving poison._

 _She, however, had blatantly cut herself off from the pain. Elves felt things with everything in them, but Arathell had all but destroyed the part of her that could feel. She could not bear to look at the faces of the people who died. Their souls were gone, and she knew that these people wouldn't dream of hurting her in life, so why should she allow them to hurt her in death? If their hearts were still, then they decidedly had nothing left to give her. She would not allow grief to consume her. Arathell would swing her blade with precision, only wanting to protect the ones who were still breathing and still had much to give to their people, be they servant or king._

 _"The air is thicker here," she heard and turned her gaze to her older sister. Arwen was looking up at the treetops. "The sun will not reach me here, will it, Sister?" she whispered._

 _Arathell smiled without mirth. "Then it is proper that you are the Evening Star and do not need sunlight to keep your spirits up, is it not?" she replied, swaying on her horse._

 _Arwen looked down at her with true dismay. "Yes, but are you not better for a world like this, Duvainith? Darkness is your name; this should be your domain."_

 _The younger rolled her eyes and looked up at the sunlight that was dripping onto the pathway. "Your idea of darkness is my idea of brightness. The sun still reaches me just fine and I am sure that it burns at my skin just as it does in Imladris. And my name is Darkness due to my uncanny resemblance to it, not in accordance to where I should and should not live." She chuckled. "You are simply not very well traveled, Arwen. This is not darkness."_

 _"Spoken like a maiden of depression," a masculine voice purred, and Arathell immediately drew out her bow with an arrow and pointed it at the source._

 _"I am much more than that, as you can clearly see. Step out of the thicket where I can watch the light leave your eyes properly," Arathell hissed._

 _"Is it too dark for you to see?" the voice teased._

 _"I see you just fine, but executions are rarely so veiled," she snapped._

 _"Then you know who you aim at?" it carried on calmly._

 _"I aim at an Elf who obviously does not know death when he sees it. Instead of knowing who I am aiming at, I would be concerned with who is aiming at you," she drawled._

 _Quite suddenly, the branches moved and a tall being stalked out. His eyes drew her attention firstly, taking in the fact that he did not have the characteristic grey eyes of their people. She didn't either, but that didn't mean that she didn't judge for it. He was blond like the people of these woods, but he was not dressed as one. Instead of the red and silver armor that her grandmother's soldiers wore, this Elf was bathed in green and brown, symbols of a very different people. He walked with an air of superiority, a highly decorated bow on his back and she could see the dare in his eyes._

 _"My arrow points at your heart and you still believe you can shoot before me?" she remarked, calling his challenge. Arwen remained silent beside her, as she rightfully should. "You're of Greenwood," she commented. She watched his arrogance skyrocket as the mention of his home. He jutted his chin out and his eyes sparkled. Her Woodland kin would not so proudly antagonize two of Rivendell if he were not of some importance to his people. He was not the king; his eyes were not wise enough or old enough. That only left one option. She smirked at her new game and kept her bow aloft. "You bow down to one who calls himself a king." The Prince stiffened slightly, proving he had a sense of family. "Tell me, does the King think himself above Lothlórien? Lady Galadriel?" The Elf stayed quiet. "What about Imladris? If you are who I think you are, and I am generally right, then you should know who I am. Does your king think himself above me or my people? What about Lord Elrond? Neither of them claims truly royal titles, yet yours has done so, why?"_

 _"You speak much," the man said. "You are young; this is evident. Arrogance is a sign of youth."_

 _Arathell laughed genuinely. "Then you, my lord, must be very young indeed." She lowered her weapon and climbed off of her horse, bowing low to him in mockery. She saw his face twist into a snarl when she ascended. "But you see, in contrast to you, I have reasons to be arrogant, Prince Legolas."_

 _The Elf frowned more and stalked up to her, taking her throat and making their two horses shuffle. Arwen was frightened, but she knew her place. She may be the older, but Arathell was the wiser in matters like these. "You are of Rivendell," he said._

 _"Very good," Arathell said sarcastically. "Was it the color of our hair or my explicit words of my birthplace that gave you that indication?"_

 _"Lady Galadriel –" he started._

 _"So not Queen then?" Arathell barked, twisting herself out of his grasp and knocking him to the forest floor. She withdrew her sword and placed it at his neck, where she could sever the thick artery in a heartbeat. "No, she is not so arrogant. It's a sign of youth, you say? Then your father must have ejaculated his life force upon his own birth to have you and still have enough youth to call himself a king."_

 _"Enough of this," another voice sounded, and when she looked up, she saw a friend at last. "Lady Arathell, you have always had a touch for the dramatic," Haldir teased. "Let His… just let him up."_

 _Arathell smirked and removed her blade, climbing back on Daeroch. "Even kind Haldir does not call you royalty," she commented, earning a stern look from her sister and her friend. "Interesting, no?"_

 _"Lady Galadriel is waiting for her granddaughters," Haldir continued. "We thought it best that you have a protective convoy to bring Lady Arwen into the realm."_

 _"You give us help now that we have entered your protected borders?" Arwen asked curiously, not with any hint of malice._

 _"It was our impression that the two of you would not be riding from Imladris for another week," Legolas said, earning a glare._

 _"It was the Enemy's impression as well," Arathell answered. "So you see: we have walked underneath his very nose without him knowing." She looked at the Prince with arched eyebrows. "This is a simple teaching that I learned millennia ago, Prince Legolas. Have you not learned it yet? Pity," she seethed and looked to Haldir. "I have business with my kin, Haldir. I trust that you will be able to bring my sister the rest of the way, for I must ride ahead. Already, I feel like I have wasted enough time in… this company." She cast a glance at Legolas who understood the meaning of her words._

 _"Arathell, I can ride just as quickly," Arwen pronounced loudly._

 _Arathell looked at the two men in her presence and a wicked thought entered her mind. "Haldir, do you have a horse with you now?" Her friend nodded with confusion. "My lord, Legolas?" Legolas frowned and shook his head no. "Well then, Sister, I believe it only makes sense to me to race these two Elf lords to Lady Galadriel."_

 _"I am at disadvantage, lady," Legolas reminded._

 _"And whose fault is this?" Arathell retorted, kicking Daeroch slightly and whispering words of speed into his ear. She heard her sister laughing and before she knew it, they entered the sacred dwelling of their kin. They dismounted and pet their horses with gratitude._

 _"You were very rude, Sister," Arwen admonished._

 _"And yet I heard you laughing," Arathell retorted with a gleeful smile. "Come, I have business with our kin. Galadriel is expecting us."_

 _Light enveloped her body soon, making the hair on her shoulders seem lighter and her skin more of a pearly white than its customary caramel. Arwen however looked breathtaking, and Arathell reflected for a moment how her brothers thought that Arathell was as beautiful as the older of the two. Arathell did not know how she could compare to her sister. Her people certainly knew the difference between true beauty and dark appearances._

 _They stopped before the lightest part of the city and Arathell lowered her face instantly. She had never been very keen on showing respect for anyone, regardless of their station, but over the years, she had come to learn that, while her grandmother was tolerant of her careless behavior (she even found it endearing), her grandfather was rougher than stone and would not tolerate Arathell's tongue. She had been threatened on more than one occasion to be thrown into the prison cells if she could not show respect. Arathell had also learned the consequences of testing her kin's threats – they were not a bluff._

 _Lord Celeborn had therefore become the only one to earn her respect truly. It was not that she did not respect the others of her large family, but she had never felt the urge to show that respect to them. Arathell figured only that she had the innate desire to prove herself as an equal to those around her. And saying and doing whatever she wanted in their presence was a way to ensure that._

 _It was not much of a secret either that her bended knee to her grandfather also prompted her to feel more reverence for him than she felt to the others. He had managed the impossible and had tamed her. She admired his ability to do that, even if it made her suffer. But this is what caused her to love her grandfather the most in their family. He was truly her equal. They thought the same and had the same stubborn heads on the same sturdy shoulders._

 _When the light grew around her, she felt her kin in her presence and knelt. "And here are the daughters of Lord Elrond," Lord Celeborn announced. "You may rise." Arathell stood to her feet and looked up at her family. "Your travels were safe?"_

 _"Yes, my lord," Arathell replied._

 _"It has come to my attention, my dear, that a certain Prince was nearly shot and then stabbed by you, Lady Arathell," Lady Galadriel stated with a twinkle in her eye._

 _Arathell inclined her head again. "I do not bow to his realm. He is merely another of our kind in my eyes and does not deserve any higher treatment."_

 _"He is a Prince," Celeborn mentioned._

 _"He is an Elf with an inflated ego," Arathell countered. "Why is he here? Surely a Prince of all people would have his own duties to attend to? He has come a long way to keep Lady Arwen safe on her travels from Rivendell. He must have another purpose."_

 _Lord Celeborn smiled. "You may ask him yourself."_

 _She scoffed and when she received the stern look from her grandfather, she stood up straighter and stiffened her lips. "I highly doubt he will want to converse with his near assassin again."_

 _"He is a warrior, like you, Arathell," Celeborn said. "Therefore, he is a gambler and plays Death daily. It is in his blood to do so. If you claim to be Death's channel, he will not shy from your presence."_

 _Arathell's mouth dropped open and she stumbled slightly as she heard his words. "You like him!" she accused, forgetting propriety for a moment. "An Elfling Prince with a head full of garbled rights to rule when he is of a lesser make than you and with a higher title to his name, and you like him!? Of all people, you, who demands respect and wisdom and you like one who has neither!"_

 _"Do you claim to have these qualities then?" Celeborn snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously._

 _"My lord," Arwen started, but a raised hand from their leader and she stopped, looking bashful. She had not had as many experiences with him as Arathell had._

 _Arathell felt as though she had been slapped across the face with his words. "You think that I do not respect you, Grandfather?" she whispered. "Do you not think me wise?"_

 _The lord before her smiled and reached his hand out. "Come along, Arathell." Still feeling the ball of anguish tearing through her belly, she took his hand anyway, allowing him to lead her to more private quarters. Trust was something that came as a struggle for her kin, and her grandfather was not excluded from that pool. Even some of his highest attendants did not know his secrets. If his wife hadn't had the gift to see into his mind, Arathell was sure that even she would be blocked out by him. Maybe that was what drew him to her when they first fell in love._

 _"Do my words hurt you?" he asked as they paused on a stairwell overlooking his people. For once, she could not make a sound and she looked down to her feet, fighting the stinging in her eyes. "I have spoken with Lady Galadriel and even Lord Elrond concerning you." She did not speak. "They both say that you are a confident Elven lady with the power to make whole countries kneel to her if she chooses. And yet here you stand with your head bowed and in emotional pain just because of simple words?"_

 _"No words that come from you can be simple," she muttered harshly. "Every word you say has two meanings, and at the moment, I am struggling to understand the second meaning to your earlier statement. All I can hear in my head is that you do not think I am capable of respect and have no wisdom to provide anyone regarding anything."_

 _"That is because you are selfish and only think about how words directly affect you," he replied quickly, though his tone held no anger in it._

 _She nodded, still not meeting his gaze. "I am selfish. And I know very well that there are few of our kind who could be more selfish than me. I am even selfish with my own kin," she finished, a lone tear dripping out of her brown eyes._

 _He touched her cheek with a surprising tender touch, wiping the tear. "And of this knowledge regarding yourself, I would ask if you consider selfishness a wise trait to carry? Furthermore, I would ask if selfishness could generate respect." Arathell pondered his words and looked down at the horde of Elves beneath her. She wouldn't deny the superiority she felt over them. "When I last heard from your father, he described to me why you want to ride to war. He explained your reasoning, but I would like to hear the reasoning from you. Why ride to war?"_

 _She looked at her kin with furrowed eyebrows. "What would happen if they all die? Where would that leave us?" she whispered._

 _"Where it would leave you, you mean?" he assumed and when she opened her mouth to snap back at him, he stopped her with a glance. "How much blood have you seen?" he asked suddenly and she started, feeling even more confused._

 _"I have seen more than any Man will see in his lifetime," she said hesitantly._

 _"Your father said that you invoked their blood in your discussion with him. How we all share the same coloration of our blood." She nodded. "That satisfies me," he told her and she looked at him, feeling pleased that she had done so. "But there is more that can be done."_

 _"There is always more that can be done," she told him._

 _He smiled at her. "Very good. You are learning," he told her and she felt a twinge of excitement. "What else is there that we share with them?"_

 _"With who exactly?" she asked and they started walking back up the stairs, but after three steps, they stopped._

 _"Shall we start small?" he asked with a look of determination. She nodded quickly. "How about your immediate family? How you, your father, brothers, and sister are connected? What is that you all share?"_

 _She thought hard about this. "We are from Imladris," she surmised. He only stared at her, confirming that she had gotten the answer wrong. He forced her to walk back down the stairs for two steps. Catching onto the game quickly, she thought more about the question. "We are family… We," she sighed, closing her eyes. "We are one another's safe haven." She felt herself move up two steps. "We can take comfort in each other," she carried on. "We trust each other more than we trust anyone else." They moved up four more steps, and she felt very pleased with her success. "Did I do well?" she asked. Celeborn suddenly sighed and pushed her back down a step._

 _"You focus on your own success too much. Go to your chambers now and sleep. We will continue this discussion in the morning," he commanded and waved his hand for her to take her leave. "I will take your desire to send my men to battle into consideration."_

 _"What about meeting with the Prince?" she chirped._

 _"I would expect that he would be sleeping, Arathell. Good evening," he told her, but the look in his eye was enough for her to run back down the stairs to find wherever the so-called Prince slept. Whether her grandfather was teaching her lessons or not, she could not find it in her to like or respect the Greenwood Prince._

 _"Haldir," she called once she reached the gates. The Elf turned to look at her, not at all amused with her earlier antics. "I am sorry for leaving you with him," she said quietly. "I know that you dislike him, as I do but –"_

 _"No, it is fine," he interrupted. "You breathe fire, Lady Arathell, much like the Drakes of the North. I would simply be careful as to who it is you are burning with your flames, my lady. Sometimes, it may not be who you expect."_

 _She nodded and gave him a smile. "Where is he?"_

 _"Do you wish to make peace with him?"_

 _"Never," she snapped, seeing him smile faintly. "I wish to tear information from him about what he is doing in these lands, so far from home. Do you know?"_

 _Haldir nodded. "Yes, my lady. But he is that way. He is pacing," he nodded with his head as to where she would find him._

 _She smirked at him and then walked gracefully to Legolas, minding where she placed her feet. Away from him by only meters, he stiffened and turned to look at her behind her hiding place. "You should not attempt such a thing, my lady," he murmured and she stepped out behind a tree with a smug smirk. "Why do you grin like that?"_

 _"Because I managed to sneak up more to you than you did to me earlier," she teased. "Why do you pace like that?" she retorted._

 _He stopped and huffed at her in a very humanlike manner that made her roll her eyes. "I announced my presence to you – the score is not fair. You did not notice me at all." She blinked, ignoring the comment and waiting for him to continue. "I am simply trying to understand that I threatened a daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. However, I apparently caused even further damage when I learned that it was Lady Arathell who I provoked, the Shadow." She arched her eyebrows at the name. "Yes, even the people in my realm have heard of your not-so-graceful title. I'm not ashamed to say that I grew up hearing of your ruthlessness and cunning." He scoffed. "You reminded my people of a King of Men. You are greedy like one and have the darkness of one."_

 _She smoothed down her front and tried to hold her tongue. "Firstly," she started, surrendering to her urges only slightly, "you are in no position to speak of me being greedy. I do not look for fame and I do not look for wealth. I will heartily admit that I am selfish and often desire not to be hindered in whatever task I set myself out to do. Sometimes, I put my own wants before others' but it is not to further myself along in the hierarchy of things." She smirked harshly and met his blue gaze. "For I am already at the top of that chain… Your Highness." She noticed his desire to rebut her words, but she held her hand up, pleased to find him silenced. "And secondly, my darkness," she sighed. "This is what Shadow implies. Even my given name implies it, my lord – Arathell Duvainith. I am the beautifully dark sister." She smiled and interlaced her fingers. "It makes sense, doesn't it? That my sister is the Evening Star, and I am the darkness she is cast upon."_

 _"Are you opposites?" he asked, sounding curious._

 _"She is a beacon for hope," Arathell answered calmly. "I am an entity that swallows everything but that light. My duty is to protect it and keep it shining. I provide the stark contrast, for if there is no recognizable evil, then how can we appreciate hope and love when they show themselves to us?"_

 _He stared at her for a moment before resuming his pacing. "What are you doing here, my lady?" he asked in a tired voice. It was a sound that she was not accustomed to hearing from one so young, and for a moment, she wondered if there was truly more to him than his promised twig crown._

 _Arathell shook her head clean from the thought and smiled, schooling her features. "I am here to ask you that very question. Surely a Prince of Greenwood does not have the time to spare a 'lowly' civilization like this."_

 _He resumed staring at her, and she felt him challenging her, as if giving her the chance to take back her offensive words. Arathell held her chin up to him and met his gaze calmly, waiting for any response that would give her the opportunity to leave. She did not particularly care for this person. "Your father wanted me to join your family in Rivendell," he said finally, and instead of giving her clarity, she felt even more confused._

 _"Does your own family not supplement enough for you, Your Highness?" she tested, blinking slowly and trying to remain in control of the situation._

 _With the speed she had been told Greenwood Elves possessed, his hand was around her throat. His hold was not tight and she took note of this. He wanted her to think that he would be firm with her and prove she was unable to fight him. But this was a trick she had seen before, and she knew how to combat it. Only this time, she would not be so gentle. With matching speed, she knocked her elbow up into his chin, forcing him to release her. She stamped on his foot, making him grunt and bend over enough for her knee to connect with his abdomen. With a strong push against his shoulders, he was down on the forest floor, and she had her blade on his neck._

 _"Again, you think that by grabbing my throat, I will submit," she growled. "I warn you, Elf," she continued. "If you touch me again in a way I would not wish, the pain for you will only increase. I do not like you, and you are not my family. You have no need to touch me."_

 _"You mock my family, how can you not expect me to retaliate accordingly?" he demanded, standing and pushing away her sword harshly, so much so she saw a tint of red on his finger where he scratched at the edge._

 _She sneered and sheathed her weapon. "It was my impression that men did not handle women roughly in our race. Are things different in Greenwood?"_

 _"And you count yourself amongst that category?" he snapped and she froze, for once feeling as if she had been truly hit by the offensive Elf. "Your blessed father," he started, earning a growl from her throat, "called me to him to discuss a bond between our realms, to strengthen our ties across Middle Earth. Surely even a shield-maiden can understand what that entails?" Arathell froze even further. "However if he thinks that I can breed with you, then I would rather throw myself into a horde of Dwarves, for even they would be better company and would not be so rude and disrespectful!"_

 _Meeting his gaze, she walked haughtily up to him and slapped him hard across the face. He stood aghast at her. "I am not an animal that can be thrown into a pen and dirtied by a pig. Despite whatever tortuous tale you have heard of Shadow… maybe you need to think about the lady who casts it. I would not care if you were the Valar themselves, I would never be found in your bed, rather your pig pen."_

 _Arathell didn't look back when she left him. In fact, she didn't look at him at for the rest of her stay in Lothlórien._

* * *

 **So there is that chapter, all done. I must say that this one was not one of my favorites to write and I am a little worried about how it turned out. I know, I know, I know, Legolas was kind of an ass and Arathell was kind of a bitch. But this is important to both of their characters and I am going to plead youth to explain Legolas' behavior. We can expect that he hasn't been out and about much as a Prince and has probably been living the good life in Greenwood (aka Mirkwood) for all of his life. The idea that there are people - even of his own race - that dislike him and his father is a foreign concept. So, he probably thinks that Arathell's dislike for him is unnatural and she is that rare one that hates him.**

 **Also a little worried about how you guys interpret Celeborn and Arathell. I like the dynamic I've got going on there, and I just hope that I set it up in the right way. Celeborn isn't going to be as big of an influence as Galadriel, but he still has an impact to make. So... please let me know what you think. I know, the whole game thing was sort of cheesy, but I like to think that Celeborn is only treating her that way because he sees her as a child and this is how he would teach a child. Maybe his own daughter had a god-complex? Who knows? Just let me know!**

 **And I would love to hear from ALL of you! I've got four, faithful reviewers and I love them to the moon and back! Let me know what you think of this HUGE chapter!**

 **Check out the song, as always!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, darlings! Thanks to those who reviewed! It was great "seeing" some new faces and I hope to continue hearing from you in the future! I love hearing everyone's input!**

 **Everyone seemed so excited to meet Legolas! I wonder how their friendship (?) is going to go... And don't worry, she will have another run in with the Woodland Prince and by the time the Fellowship is assembled... well, I'm getting ahead of myself. :)**

 **Sorry for the shortness of this one. The next chapter is going to be VERY fun and this one was pretty epic too. We get to meet yet another character who is widely known here. I guess I should say that Part One is surprisingly coming to a close soon. Not quite yet but soon!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to His Literary Majesty Professor Tolkien. Nor do I have any rights to Peter Jackson's interpretation of said majesty.**

* * *

Part One - Life is Beautiful

Far From Home - Five Finger Death Punch

"All the places I've been and things I've seen  
A million stories that made up a million shattered dreams  
The faces of people I'll never see again  
And I can't seem to find my way home"

 _ **T.A. 2759 - Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _Arathell hadn't spoken much since her return to her homeland. The arrogant Prince had ridden with her, and learned rapidly of her abilities to be stubborn. He had tried to engage her in conversation on several occasions, apologizing for his uncalled for words, but she hadn't listened. Instead, every word she heard from him, she put that many feet between Daeroch and his beast._

 _Legolas hadn't stayed long in Rivendell, and honestly, she didn't even know when he had left until she was greeted by her brother two weeks later stating that he had gone. Unlike her experience with him, her brothers and father all found him to be charming and a hopeful extension of their family someday in the future. She had already made it clear to them that, to coin his words, she would rather be thrown to a horde of Dwarves. There was nothing within her that found any good quality in him. Even his fighting was sub-par compared to hers._

 _Now it was months later and Arathell had forgotten that encounter. Being awoken by her handmaiden, she learned that Lady Galadriel was present in Imladris again. Arathell sighed and stood from her bed. She dressed quickly, pulling a brush through her already fairly straight hair before leaving her confines in a black dress._

 _She allowed her kin to embrace her, even feeling a smile break out across her face. She had been fairly sure that her grandmother had sympathized with her plight more than anyone in their family. "How are you fairing, my dear?" she asked kindly, running her hands through Arathell's hair, and the young woman even leaned into her touch, missing the presence of a motherly figure in a way. She hadn't seen her sister and the men were being crass and difficult to understand._

 _"I am well, Grandmother," she replied. "How is my sister?" she asked quickly._

 _Galadriel laughed. "She is happy and is learning much from her environment," she answered truthfully and Arathell nodded, satisfied. "I unfortunately do not come because of her. There are more urgent matters that I would speak of with you in particular." Her grandmother began to lead the two of them into the gardens outside next to the fountain. Arathell stared curiously at her kin. She did not press though, knowing her grandmother would speak when the need arose. "You said centuries ago something of the Istar, Saruman," she started suddenly, her voice grave._

 _"I have said many things regarding that being," Arathell muttered darkly, already soiled by how she knew the conversation would likely go._

 _"You said that he wished for a tower that climbed to the heavens, all in order to make his arms appear longer. You said that he craved power above all else," Galadriel hastened, and Arathell frowned, but nodded in agreement. The Lady of Light sighed and looked down on the ground. "Lord Saruman is the new resident of Isengard, specifically Orthanc." Arathell's eyes widened at the news._

 _"Anything of severe import we must hide from him," Arathell whispered urgently. "However, we cannot make him think that we do not trust him. We keep him involved in unimportant things or things we have already made a decision on." She paused. "What of Gandalf?" she asked. "Does he know of this?"_

 _Her grandmother nodded, "He knows of Saruman's new abode, yes. We have not spoken with him though about Saruman's potential threat."_

 _"I would trust him with my life, Grandmother," Arathell dictated proudly. "I think that he can know of our suspicions, and I think that he can keep them secret."_

 _"Nothing is secret anymore," her father interrupted, coming to stand with the two of them. "There are still missing palantir. How can we be sure that Saruman is not in possession of one?"_

 _"We do not have one. He cannot spy on us that way," Arathell rebutted._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2770 - Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _"Sister!" Elrohir exclaimed as he approached her. "Erebor has been taken!"_

 _Her jaw dropped quite spectacularly she suspected when she heard those words. "The Dwarves are many things for sure, but they are not incapable of protecting their home from Orcs. A dwelling like Erebor… this cannot be true!" she stated as they began walking through their home. Threads in her mind reached out, looking for a_ _possibility as to how it had happened. Surely, if there was an Orc pack that was large enough to take Erebor, of all places, they would not have gone unnoticed. Orcs came from Dol-Guldur generally, meaning they would have had to go through Greenwood, Thranduil's domain. How could the Elven King disregard another like this?_

 _"And Thranduil pleads innocent in this, for sure, does he not?" she snapped, her dislike for the rodent King growing more by the year._

 _"You jump too soon to conclusions, Duvainith," her brother sighed, grabbing her arm and looking her in the eye. "It was not an Orc pack that desecrated the halls of Thrór, Arathell." She looked at him curiously, waiting for the final answer. "A Dragon, Smaug, has usurped the city. The people of Erebor have fled out of their homeland. The city of Dale is all but a pile of ash."_

 _She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with the new information. "The last thing Middle Earth needs at this time is for a Dragon to arrive. Dragons are stubborn, yes, but this troubles me. They don't easily let go of whatever treasure horde they have. But that does not be mean that they cannot be bought by others. If the Enemy acquired a Dragon for their cause…I do not even want to imagine the results of something such as that."_

 _"Then I suppose it is a good thing that the Enemy is not ready to approach a Dragon yet," Elrohir mentioned, trying to smile and bring her spirits up._

 _"Where are the Dwarves headed?" she demanded, focusing on the influx of information instead of the emotion behind things. Maybe it was that she couldn't find it within her anymore to feel for anyone anymore. It stung that she had lost her feeling, but there was no sense in confusing dreams with reality._

 _"Nowhere – they are homeless."_

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2790 - Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _"Reports have seen them simply wandering, however it looks as if they hope to reclaim Moria."_

 _She scoffed. "It is overrun with things worse than Goblins. Gundabad Orcs are said to litter those caves. They cannot combat a force such as that," she argued, dubious._

 _"They will not be able to make the attack immediately, Sister. They travel with all of their females and children. Before they do anything aggressive, I believe that they will want to protect the remaining line of Durin as best as they can. Give them some time before you do anything rash."_

 _Arathell sighed but could not help the tiny smirk from crossing her features. "Of course this will be their action, but they are quicker than you think, Elrohir. Dwarven anger is surely something to be fearful of if they come in great numbers."_

" _Of course," he agreed without a thought. He exhaled loudly and looked at her with an expression that indicated he already knew the answer to his question. "Do I sense a sudden desire to trek to Moria, little sister?"_

 _"Dwarves will not so readily accept the help of an Elf, even in their time of need. They are stubborn. But… yes, I will help them. Grandfather has somehow unlocked my personal enigma of superiority. I don't feel pity or sadness for anyone, but I would feel guilt if I did not help." She sighed and smiled grimly at her brother. "It seems to be the only thing I can feel anymore, Elrohir."_

 _Her brother pulled her close and kissed her temple. "You should be wary, Arathell. Guilt can lead to despair, which could subsequently lead to a broken heart. I could not bear to lose my sister before I lost myself. Despite what you may think, there are souls in this world who love you very dearly, even though you do not often heartily return it."_

 _"I will not be taking anyone," she announced, pulling away and soon making her way back to her chambers to suit herself up for battle. "They would not accept the help of a troop. It may be in my best interest to look like an outcast, simply lending a hand when she can."_

 _Elrohir smirked. "I suppose that you must feel very proud of your decision to make another…dirtier set of armor."_

 _She returned the grin when they reached her room. She walked inside and poked her head out to look one last time at her brother. "Yes, I do feel very proud," she remarked before closing the door._

* * *

 **Wild**

 _The Elf intercepted the company of Dwarves only a day from Moria. Instead of hiding from the insufferable breed, she stepped out from her position in her bush. Numerous swords were instantly pointed at her, but she raised her hands calmly. "I am no enemy of yours, Your Majesty," she stated as kindly as she could._

 _"What would an Elf be doing here?" the young one growled. His hair was long and dark, with a prominent, but attractive nose that he had no doubt perfected looking down with. Fierce blue eyes pierced hers and for a moment, she thought that he was quite handsome, despite being a Dwarf, and quite tall as well._

 _"You must be his Highness Prince Thorin." She bowed. "At your service."_

 _"Answer the question, heathen!" the other asked, poking her slightly as a warning._

 _"I do not answer to sharp swords, my lord Thráin," she snapped, unable to rein in her temper. The father was not nearly as handsome as his offspring, with a weighty grey beard that was unruly in comparison to the King's. His gut was equally large and his nose a bulb on his wrinkled face. The three Dwarves stared with disbelief. "My name is Shadow," she greeted, again trying to sound calm. "I have no master if that is what you wonder."_

 _"It is not," Thrór disagreed, but lowered his weapon. At this, the other Dwarves did as well, but Thorin seemed hesitant. "But it is valuable information nonetheless. I would have your purpose so close to the lands of Moria. Your kinds no longer live here, if I remember correctly." He sneered, as if he thought he could inflict such a pain upon her. "Hollin was destroyed."_

 _She stared gently at the King. She never liked Dwarves, but she could respect them well enough. The being before her deserved the title King. Dwarves had Kings and Queens and Princes. They were a lesser race, so it was acceptable for them to elevate themselves. "I came across the word that a great evil descended upon Erebor," she started, ignoring his jab about the desolated homeland of her people. Thorin pointed his sword at her again, this time with a protective growl. "My lord, I was asked a question; do not begrudge me for giving an answer you are not keen on." She looked back at the King. "As I stated, I have no master. I came alone."_

 _"You had no qualms about letting us discover you," Thorin griped, staring warily._

 _"No," she agreed with a smile, angled in just the right way to seem tender and generous. "I do not care much for Dwarves, I will hastily admit. You will not find any of my kin who do, though I assume you know this. Being neighbors with Thranduil may have shown you that."_

 _"I will not hear that name in my presence," the King threatened. "He betrayed my people in our hour of need. He turned his back on us. If you come from that wood, you are not welcome here."_

 _She grinned. "You will find no love of Thranduil in me, Your Majesty. The Elf sickens me and loath would I be to call myself from that realm." She paused. When none of the Dwarves spoke, she smiled, knowing that they were interested in her and what it was that she had to say. "As I stated, I do not care for you. But I despise Orcs. And if you plan to battle them, then I would be more than happy to lend you my arm."_

 _"You would help us?" Thorin asked carefully._

 _"I would help myself," she disagreed, knowing that this was perhaps the best tactic. Dwarves did not accept pity. "But if my deeds would help you as a result, then so be it."_

 _"Throwing yourself into battle would help you?" he continued._

 _"I despise Orcs, Master Dwarf. I would be protecting Middle Earth from being overrun with the vile things. As a solitary figure, I cannot go into a nest of them, but with you present, I would be able to rid some of them."_

 _"But you are a woman," Thráin argued. "You would be able to do nothing but die."_

 _The insult snapped her control and before the heir could blink, she had an arrow notched to her bow, pointing the weapon at his head. "I pray that I misheard you, my lord."_

 _"Only an archer?" Thorin demanded once she lowered her bow. Arrogance and power dripped from every one of his words. He reminded her much of herself and her ways of speaking, especially around those she deemed lesser than herself._

 _"I fight more with a sword than with my bow. In other realms, you would find the archers, but not where I am from."_

 _"Where are you from?" another Dwarf asked. He had kind eyes and a big nose and black hair. He looked to be very young, even for Dwarven standards, but she would not comment on their practice of endangering their young in wars. She did not know this one by name, but she assumed that he was a friend of the royal family and had been raised to be trusted._

 _She stared._

 _"Shadow is not your real name," Thorin growled._

 _She turned her head to meet his gaze. "If you believe I would give my real name to a breed I do not like just because of their station, you clearly do not grasp common sense. You do not need my name and birthplace in order for me to fight. Will you let me or will you not?" The royals looked at each other. "I should inform you though that whatever your choice is, I will be there at that battle either way. My aim will be for Orcs and other foul things, but if you presume to fight me, then I will not hesitate to defend myself." She bowed again. "I take my leave, Majesties."_

 _"You won't travel with us?" the young one yelled._

 _"I am a solitary figure, my lord!" she yelled back over her shoulder._

* * *

 **Anyone have a guess at who the young Dwarf would be? I don't want to say it's obvious for fear of potentially hurting someone's feelings, but if you've seen any of the Hobbit movies, I think you've got a fairly good clue. :)**

 **Let me just say that I LOVE Thorin. Despite his many flaws, I think that his idea of loyalty is absolutely incredible. And I think Richard Armitage did a fantastic job of portraying him, and yes, it is his delicious nose that I am referring to in this chapter. ;) I don't normally find noses sexy but his... mmm. Anyway. Enough of my drooling.**

 **Please leave a review, and as always check out the music! This one is more in reference to the Dwarves. :)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, my loves! Thanks to all those who reviewed! It is so exciting "seeing" both new and loyal readers leave their remarks! Keep it up!**

 **So, I guess I should warn you, I have a little bit of** _BAD NEWS_ **... It may take me a week to get the next chapter up after this. I have family coming in from out-of-state, and I haven't seen them in a really long time, so I am going to be pretty occupied with them and probably will not have time. HOWEVER, if you guys are SUPER desperate, I may be able to get something up tomorrow. But I'm talking SUPER desperate. I've been running around my house like a chicken with her head cut off for the past week trying to clean the place up for them, and even this chapter is a struggle to get up. So, I am hesitant to upload another, especially so quickly after this chapter, but if you guys really want it, I will definitely try to make it happen. :)**

 **This chapter, is again critical. And it happens to be one of my personal favorites from the pre-LOTR storyline. So... Oh, and this happens to be the last chapter for Part One. Still haven't decided how many parts this story is going to be... but it will be at least five, if that is any clue. This part happens to be one of the shorter ones though. We have a long way to go before this baby is done.**

 **And sorry!** _ONE LAST THING THAT IS FAIRLY IMPORTANT_ **: I am not going by the plot is the Hobbit movies. Thráin is depicted in the DoS and that simply is incorrect. Furthermore, Thráin** **does make it through the Battle of Moria, and as such IS ALIVE in this chapter. Sorry if that confuses anyone. Feel free to ask any questions! That's what I'm here for!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the work written and described by Professor J.R.R. Tolkien and have no right to anything related to the movie franchise.**

* * *

Part One - Life is Beautiful

Breathe Again - Alter Bridge

"So I set out on my own  
Just to breath again  
Touch the light that calls me home  
Just to reach the end  
Where I'm free to breathe again"

 _ **T.A. 2841 – Ered Luin – The Blue Mountains**_

 _Arathell could never be sure how it happened. She hated Dwarves, and all of a sudden, she was living amongst them. She and Thorin still greatly disliked one another, but they tolerated each other's presence. Ever since the death of Thrór, things were difficult for the Prince, and she was not about to be upset with him for grieving. She refused to even think about what she would do if she lost Celeborn._

 _Thráin was no better. In fact, she was confident that he was worse. He was silent and didn't speak anymore, not even to his son, who desperately needed him. Luckily, the younger Dwarf, who she had learned was named Balin, had bound himself to the causes of Thorin and pledged to help him any way that he could. Moria had thankfully been retaken, but she knew very well that the evil would not be gone for forever. She had never gone through those tunnels, sensing something was at work in the stone that she couldn't be a part of._

 _For some reason she also could not begin to fathom, she had stayed with them all. She had helped settle them all into the Blue Mountains, a much more hospitable place, if she said so herself. She didn't care for them, but every day she seemed to find them more and more tolerable._

 _Balin had asked her many times what her real name was in the time they had been grouped together. For fifty years she had remained their ally and they only called her by the name Shadow. There were nights where she wasn't even sure if she could even remember the power of her name, knowing that it once had been a source of reverence, and wondered what it would be like to feel that power in her veins again. She would say her name aloud to herself every night before sleep, keeping the name alive in her heart and trying to rekindle the mental strength she felt like she had lost in her time with the Dwarves._

 _Her family had had no word from her, and she was confident that they presumed she was dead. Rivendell was her home, to be sure, and she missed it greatly, but the guilt in her heart kept gnawing away at her. Maybe the guilt was going by the name of pity now, she didn't know. Dwarves had different ways of handling things, and she was beginning to consider that their ways were sticking to her._

 _Arathell Duvainith, Lady of the Valley of Imladris, daughter of Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel, was living with Dwarves._

 _Though she tolerated the species more every day, she hated her life more every day as well. After this time spent with them, she had come to the decision that she needed to leave. She relayed her departure to Thráin and Thorin; Balin seemed to be the only one saddened. She had liked the Dwarf, and she knew that she would miss him._

 _As she prepared Daeroch – the only friend she had truly taken on her journey – someone rested their hand at the small of her back. Arathell did not turn, knowing the hand very well. "You're finally leaving us," the woman stated, though the grief was evident. "Your family will be happy, I'm sure."_

 _The Elf sighed and turned, kneeling in front of the woman. "Mara, you I will miss the most," she whispered, bumping her forehead against the maternal figure's. This Dwarven lady had truly been only one she could say she more than liked. Mara had given her a home with her and her family. Her husband had never taken to her, but the children were sweet, as far as Dwarf children were concerned._

 _"For fifty years, I have housed you," Mara whimpered, crying now. "It isn't the majority of our lives, to be sure, but I always looked at you as a daughter. And now you run to your real family where you are a real daughter."_

 _"Mara, please," Arathell begged, feeling pain she wasn't accustomed to. Mara quieted, but didn't stop crying. "Listen, mellon," she whispered, taking her further away from the hustle and bustle of her people. "I will tell you a secret none of your kin know." Mara's eyes widened with alarm, as if already knowing what the secret would entail. "I expect you to give me your word that my secret will remain as such and not a word shall come from your lips about it." Mara nodded violently. "I am of Rivendell, Mara." The Dwarf didn't say anything. "My given name is Arathell Duvainith and I am the daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. You must promise me… You must promise me, my friend that should trouble ever ail you, you will come to my homeland. You will forever be invited there, and I will protect you. Because, my friend, my… mother…" Arathell trailed off, feeling a mist cover her eyes. "Fifty years is nothing in the lifespan of an Elf, but you have become as much of an extension of my family as I have become of yours."_

 _Mara embraced her, kissing her cheek and touching her hair where a sturdy braid had been put in place years ago. "Likewise, my beloved," she whispered. "My door is forever open to you, Shadow… Arathell," she finished. "Now go. I would hate to not know the whereabouts of my children for fifty years. You must not delay!"_

 _Arathell chuckled and stood, moving back to her horse. Before she mounted him however, another figure stood in her way. She sighed, wondering if she would ever actually be able to leave at all. "Your Highness," she greeted with a bow of her head. Thráin was silent but inclined his own his nonetheless. "If you have come to convince me to stay, there is no hope in your endeavor."_

 _"No," his voice croaked, and her eyes widened, surprised that she had earned a sound from the Silent King at all. "No," he said again. "Be gone with yourself, I have no desire to keep you."_

 _She stared, wondering. "Why are you here then?"_

 _Thráin_ _sighed and looked off and away, his eyes searching for something he could not find. "I do not know for certain, my lady. I am proud of the child I have raised. He has created a home for my people in these mountains, and there is peace and prosperity. But," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. "I don't belong here. I belong in Erebor."_

 _"Smaug has taken your city, Your Highness," she told him, seeing through the King's veil and knowing that his sanity had long since departed. "There is no hope for your quest to reclaim it."_

 _"No, you're quite right," Thráin rushed now pacing in front of her horse. Arathell sighed and folded her hands in front of her, waiting for the King to continue. "But I do not belong here."_

 _"You said so already, my lord," she murmured._

 _"I belong in Erebor and whether there is no fruit for my journey, I think that is where I shall go," he announced. "I will not have you telling another about this, especially my son."_

 _"This is madness, Thráin!" she exclaimed. "I will not allow you to send yourself on a suicide mission! Your son looks for guidance in you; you must stay!"_

 _"I have nothing but woe to give to him!" Thráin yelled, and she silenced herself. "No, I will take my leave tonight, under the cover of darkness. I do not expect to return. But I think that a King should be able to choose where he wishes to die. And I would not die away from my home. If I am to die on the road to my home, then I am confident that Mahal will bring my spirit the rest of the way and let my soul rest within the golden halls of Erebor with the thousands of other souls of my people." He laughed mirthlessly. "It is honorable, do you think?"_

 _She could not help but smile at his stubbornness and rested her hand on the King's shoulder. "I think your ability to hope rivals that of my sister, my lord. I understand your plight, and since I am in no position to command you otherwise, I give you my best wishes. Your father would have been proud of your goal. But you cannot expect me or your son to be. I see it as a fool's errand and your son will see it as abandonment. However I have put my family through grief beyond measure for what I thought was right, so I would be hypocritical to say more about it, my lord. But I think that Lord Balin could be trusted with this knowledge, and I think that you would do well to have at least one other in your company. Of course, you don't have to heed my advice, but if you insist on going, then I should hope that you would do this much at least. Safe travels," she wished, climbing onto Daeroch. With one last look at the mountains, she fled, riding hard and never looking back._

 _She often would question why Thráin had confided in her, but she had her suspicions. Despite being not one of their own, he had no doubt heard of the wisdom of the Elves. Ordinarily, she did not think that even this knowledge would sway him into asking for her advice, but his mind had long been departed and perhaps he saw her as his only alternative. Surely, if he had spoken with any of the others, not only would they disagree with his quest, but they would have the power to prevent him from ever achieving even part of his goal. And perhaps he needed to speak about his troubled thoughts with anyone who had an ear._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2850 – Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _Arathell's arm shook and she cracked her brown eyes open to see sunlight barely dripping into her room. She groaned at the touch of what had to be Elladan. "Why do you trouble me?" she grumbled, snapped her eyes closed._

 _She had been home now for only five years, but after her family's belief that she was dead, five years had done nothing to soothe them that she was alive and well. She could only suspect that this was yet another one of her brother's attempts to make sure of reality. She had always had a strong bond with this brother, and she knew that her "death" had hit him rather hard, so since she had returned, he seemed to have the need to touch her, making sure that she was indeed real. It was annoying at its beginning and it was even more annoying now, especially in the middle of her slumbers._

 _"Mithrandir says he wants to speak with you," he whispered into her ear._

 _Arathell groaned, cursing the Wizard's sense of time. She had questioned him about it once, and he simply told her that Wizards arrived to their destinations precisely when they mean to – cheeky old man, she thought. "Tell him that Elves arrive when they mean to as well, and I do not mean to arrive now. Now I am tired and wish to sleep. The sun wakes me, and until its rays touch my face, I will not get up," she relayed, settling back into her bed._

 _Elladan chuckled and shook her harder. "He said you would say something like that," he remarked and Arathell would have rolled her eyes if they were not defiantly closed. She sensed her brother become more serious and waited. "But he says that you cannot wait. He has news for you, and with the way he looks, I would wager it is not pleasant news."_

 _At those words, she growled but threw her blankets from her body. "Tell him I will be down in a moment." Elladan nodded and left her to get dressed. She brushed her hair quickly, touching the Dwarven braid she had been given with utmost care. It was strange and outlandish for anyone outside of the family to touch an Elf's hair, but Arathell had named Mara as a member of her family and touching her hair had only seemed natural. It had been therapeutic to them both and she never once regretted letting Mara touch her hair. If Gandalf's news was about Mara, Arathell wouldn't know how to cope. The Dwarf was a symbol of pure love that didn't have to hide behind walls of propriety or fancy words. Mara taught her that love was not only real, but that it was beautiful in whatever shape it took – and there were many shapes._

 _When she encountered the Wizard pacing in the gardens, she merely stood in front of him and cleared her throat. "You disturb my sleep, mellon. Please tell me that it was for good reason."_

 _Gandalf looked at her with a fear she had never seen before. His blue eyes which were once so clear and true were clouded with disbelief and sadness. "Arathell," he sighed and reached to take her hand. She hurriedly passed it to him and pushed him to a bench where he could sit and calm his nerves. "I have been to Dol-Guldur recently," he started. Her breath caught. Mithrandir had not come to many of their meetings with her grandmother and Saruman, but knowing that he was here now must prove that the situation was grave. "They have taken a prisoner of late. Or rather, they had a prisoner."_

 _"You speak in riddles; speak clearer, my friend so that I may understand," she whispered frantically, waiting on baited breath._

 _Mithrandir sighed and dug into his robe and produced a key. When she saw it, there was no need for words any longer. Having spent fifty years with the Dwarves, she still had only seen such a key on rare occasions. Thorin had never trusted her, and Thráin rarely let anyone's fingers but his own grasp it. But she knew it as the key to Erebor - to the homeland that was destroyed years ago._

 _"Thráin," she sighed and closed her eyes. "He is the prisoner?" she whispered._

 _"Yes, my lady. Or rather, he was. I found him there, his life waiting to pass on the last hope before leaving this world. He gave me the key in hopes that Erebor would be cleansed of Smaug. I watched the light leave his eyes and felt his warmth turn cold," the old man murmured. "His mind was far away by the time I reached him. He only wanted to relieve himself of the key. There was nothing more to be done. I have told no one else of my quest to the fortress. The death of the King is meant to stay silent. No one can know. Do you understand?" She nodded breathless, still trying to absorb his words fully. "Things like this need to be properly timed. There will come a time in the future where the Dwarves will need to rally back to that Mountain, and they will need a King who can be what the race needs. Thorin is not that King now. We must wait," he finished._

 _She nodded, her eyes still closed. "It is hard to hear this, Mithrandir. He and his folk may have never taken to me completely, but I feel somewhat responsible for this tragedy. Thráin told me of his plan to reclaim his home on the day I set out for mine. I advised him that it was not wise, but I let him go. I wished him well and did not look back to him. Perhaps if I had been more adamant about him staying with his son, he would yet be alive."_

 _Gandalf shook his head and rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked to her old friend with tears in her eyes. "This is not the Arathell I left in Imladris all those years ago, is it?" he guessed. She shook her head._

 _"No, Mithrandir, I believe emotion has caught up to me at last," she conveyed. "It is a most evil burden to bear sometimes, but it seems that I can no longer fight it."_

 _"Grief is not evil. I fear someday it may be coupled with love unfortunately. But it is not evil. It is what keeps our souls separate from the Enemy's. Your emotion is the best defense you have in the battle of your mind. You are a skilled warrior, my lady. The Enemy would profit to have you in their ranks. But it is your emotion that keeps that offer at bay. You cannot lose it."_

 _She shook her head more and a tear slipped form her eye. "It hurts!" she yelped, standing and beginning to pace in front of him._

 _Mithrandir stood and grasped her shoulders tighter, stopping her and forcing her to look him in the eye. "No! This emotion hurts, yes. Many of them do. But it is the joyful ones that tip the scales."_

 _"I do not have the joyful ones," she barked. "I do not know love in the way my mother and father did or my grandmother and grandfather. My sister is far from me, and my brothers may as well be. They have treated me like glass since I have returned from the mountains."_

 _Gandalf smiled and tracked her tear with his thumb. "That is going to change soon, my dear. I can feel it in the very air we breathe now." She opened her mouth to berate his riddles but he shushed her instantly. "The darkness is always the greatest before the dawn."_

 _"I hate your riddles," she said harshly, pushing his hands off of her. "Why tell me of Thráin?"_

 _He hesitated for a moment. "You spent a great deal of time in his company, for one. And I suppose that you also would have noticed my secret from the moment I next saw you if I did not tell you in person. I am aware of your ability to learn all that you desire."_

 _She nodded, accepting the answer. "Will you tell my father?"_

 _"He has already been made aware," Gandalf replied. "Thráin would have gone anyway, Arathell," Mithrandir told her gently when he no doubt noticed that the pain on her face was still quite present. "You have seen Dwarven stubbornness yourself. Do you really believe you could have stopped him from carrying out his plan?" he asked incredulously._

 _Arathell frowned as she considered it. "I suppose you are right, but that does not ease the ache I feel, Mithrandir. If this was all you had to tell me, I would like to go inside."_

* * *

 **So there it is! I hope you like it! One quick note: I am adding a rule to Elven culture. It will be explained more in future chapters, but it was briefly mentioned here. Their hair is going to be quite important in this story. Not their ears, because I did not want to be unoriginal. So, we are going with hair. That's all I'll say about it for now.**

 **Let me know if you want another chapter posted tomorrow! If not, expect it to be a week before the next update!**

 **Check out the song, as always! This one is one of my most favorite songs from one of my most favorite bands: Alter Bridge. Please, please, please, PLEASE check it out! It is absolutely beautiful! And it is dedicated to the mourning of the King Under the Mountain. I think it suits him well.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello, lovelies! Thanks to all those who reviewed! I actually got five for that last chapter and I was simply over the moon! Thanks! Everyone has been so kind and positive, and it means the world to me! This story is by far the closest to my heart in terms of my writing and I was so hesitant to put it out there. But I am glad that I did!**

 **Also: I didn't realize until after I posted chapter nine that I had a guest reviewer that I couldn't respond to! Thank you so much RaY for your kind words! They are much appreciated, and I have made an effort to look into the repetition of Arathell's name. :) As far as chapter lengths go, for now they will be fairly erratic, but once we get into the LoTR, they will probably end up being longer. I'm sorry if you don't like that, but it I make them super short, there would be hundreds of chapters to this story. Haha**

 **This is the intro to Part Two! And what an entrance it makes! I hope you like as much as I love. (Seriously - this is by far one of my favorite chapters I have ever written) Oh, and might want to take a refresher on the song that inspires part titles: "Life is Beautiful" by Vega4.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with the brilliant work of Tolkien and the portrayal made by Peter Jackson. I do own Arathell, Mara, and another character soon mentioned. :)**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

"Dear Daughter  
Hold your head up high  
There's a world outside  
That's passing by  
Dear Daughter  
Never lose yourself  
Remember that  
You're like nobody else"

 _ **T.A. 2885 – Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _Arathell looked out her window with what could perhaps be called a smile. Known not only for her stealth and shadow-like qualities, the Lady of Imladris had also been attributed to darker qualities as well. It was nothing new to her; she knew that her thoughts did not contain much joy, as they were plagued with reality outside of their hidden home._

 _But today, the air smelled sweet and the sun caressed her face just as a lover would._

 _A faint figure caught her eye at the gates of her city, and when she focused more on it, her smile disappeared and she fled from her room to the gates. Lindir would not understand and would not allow it, so Arathell's speed was dire._

 _A short woman was before Lindir when she rode to the gate, tears running down her face. "Lindir!" Arathell snapped, catching his attention. "What have you done to her?" she demanded, falling from Daeroch and kneeling in_ _front of the Dwarf. She felt Mara's strong arms encircle her neck and her crying gain momentum. "Mara," she breathed, "Tell me what is wrong?"_

 _Mara pulled back and stared with fear but wiped away her tears with a cloth. Unlike the other Dwarves, she did not carry a beard on her face and without the facial hair she used a handkerchief to dry her face. "Arathell, my girl," she moaned._

 _"Lindir, leave us," Arathell commanded. She stared at her friend until he agreed, moving away quickly. "Come with me, Mara. You must be exhausted."_

 _"It is not only me, Arathell," Mara sighed, turning a little to show another littler girl, clutching to her mother's dress. The Elf racked her mind, but could not remember ever seeing this child before. "This is Kara, my daughter. She is but eleven years. Listen, my dear," she cried, her breath coming heavier and faster. "I am an old woman now. How I came to birth her at my age is nothing short of a miracle. I can only interpret from our beloved Mahal that she is meant to do something great in her life. My husband and sons – they learned of their King's disappearance." She choked on a sob. "They were sent out on a search party and…all three are buried with their forefathers now. I have no one, Arathell. I recalled your words, and I knew that I cannot take care of a daughter on my own without help. My life dwindles even now, but I needed to ensure that she would be safe."_

 _"Mara –" Arathell interrupted, disliking the conversation greatly._

 _"No! No, you will listen to me! You have been with my people and you may not know my language, but teach her everything you can. If she were to have you to look up to, I would deem her a very lucky child of our race. Keep her safe."_

 _"You have the wrong woman, Mara," Arathell disagreed. "I know nothing of children but that I was one a very long time ago. There must be someone else."_

 _"There is no one!" she yelled, her breathing coming faster now. "And even if there was, I cannot turn back now. I was your foster mother for a time, Shadow," she growled with sudden protectiveness. With the use of her other name, Arathell understood. "Please be a foster mother to my daughter." Arathell nodded vigorously. Mara smiled and looked around at her surroundings for the first time. She let out a little laugh. "If my home were this beautiful, I would have wanted to leave too."_

 _"Don't speak like that," Arathell snapped._

 _"It's a beautiful place to be born," Mara muttered, falling down to ground and looking up at the blue sky. Arathell screamed, calling for Lindir to return. She crouched over the woman, holding her head in her lap and brushing the hair from her face. "I suppose it would be just as beautiful a place to die, don't you think, my girl?"_

 _"Stay awake, Mara!" she pleaded, shaking the old woman, even though her eyes were closed. She felt a hand on her shoulder and when she looked into the eyes of her father, she prayed that he would save the Dwarf at their feet. "Help her!" she begged._

 _"She is at peace, Arathell," Elrond soothed, pulling her to her feet and embracing her. Arathell fought the tears in her eyes and fiercely pushed him away. Her eyes searched amongst the tall Elves that surrounded the Dwarf until she saw Kara._

 _The little girl looked surprisingly calm, and Arathell strengthened her mind enough to reach out to the girl, pleased that Kara took her hand without hesitation. "She is gone, isn't she?" Kara asked in a ghostly voice._

 _"Come away from here, child," Arathell said gently, pulling at the girl's hand until they reached her horse. Kara did not squirm or fight when she was put into the saddle and did not quiver with fear when Arathell climbed on after. She didn't cry when they reached they reached her home, and her eyes focused on what was directly ahead of her as Arathell watched the handmaiden bathe her._

 _"You may share my bed for now," Arathell urged, lifting the girl and resting her in her bed._

 _"Mother always said that she wasn't built for journeys," Kara said quietly. "She said she was tired a long time before we even got close to here." Kara finally met her eyes, and Arathell beheld the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen. Even the shine of emeralds could not rival such a brightness that was in her eyes, and she found herself quite captivated in the gaze. "Do you think she knew she was going to die?"_

 _"You shouldn't speak like that, child," Arathell cooed, straightening the girl's hair and resting her firmly on the pillows. "Your mother loves you, even in death."_

 _Kara cracked a smile. "She said that too," she sighed, nestling into the bed._

 _Arathell frowned and debated whether she should hold the child. Kara seemed strong, like her mother, and it was clear that the bond between she and the girl now was fragile. It was better to let the child come to her; Arathell could wait. "Sleep, Kara."_

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2933 - Hidden Valley of Imladris**_

 _"Mother!" Arathell heard and smiled at the sound. Her foster daughter, now fifty-nine years was truly one of the greatest joys she had experienced in her long life, if not the greatest itself. The girl was sweet and kind, despite being raised by one who was more callous and bitter than anyone. Kara had grown to be a beautiful woman, wise beyond her years and just as gifted. Her green eyes only sparkled more with mischief thanks to Arathell's brothers, and her hair was as rich as the night dark, but shimmered as mesmerizingly as moonlight._

 _Arathell had held up her promise, teaching Kara all she knew about Khuzdul as well as Sindarin. Her knowledge of the secret language of course was limited, but she had spent enough time around them to gather a very light understanding of the language and what certain things meant. Her brothers had taken it upon themselves to teach the Dwarf how to fight, focusing heavily of the sword and the bow at first. Dwarves were known to fight very well with axes, and while it was manageable, the weapons had always felt cumbersome and uneven. Kara soon agreed once she had been old enough to test them. She was brilliant with a sword, to be sure, but Kara had taken more to the bow, claiming that it was the elegance that captivated her._

 _"Mother!" Kara yelled again, drawing the lady from her thoughts. She followed the sound until she found Kara standing outside of a large door._

 _"What are you doing, child?" Arathell questioned, arching her eyebrow._

 _"There is a baby crying inside!" she stated._

 _"And you are not old enough to see?" she teased._

 _"No, Mother it is Man!" Kara exclaimed._

 _Arathell's eyes widened and she barged inside, seeing a Woman and her father discussing quietly. In her father's arms, there was a baby that was being soothed. "What is this?" she asked harshly. "Who are you?" She knew that it was likely that the Woman was distressed about some malady or another, but Arathell's curiosity got the better of her, making her shed her manners in perhaps not the most polite of ways._

 _"Please, my lady," the Woman sighed, tears on her face. "My name is Gilraen, and in your father's arms is my son, Aragorn." Despite sounding broken, there was poise and elegance that the Woman projected, even pride._

 _Her eyes widened even more and she marched over to the infant, seeing that it was more comparable to the size of a toddler instead of a small infant. He had thick black hair and grey eyes that held hers for a moment. "Isildur's heir?" she asked in a whisper. The child laughed to her voice and reached out for her. She took its finger in hers for a moment, mesmerized by the small size. This was the child that was destined to save them all – unite the world and all of its races under one banner. And it could not have weighed more than a water jug._

 _"His father is slain," Gilraen continued, drawing Arathell's attention from the baby to look at his mother. "The Enemy thinks the two of us perished as well, and I came here to hide him. I heard of the hospitality of the Elves with the adoption of a Dwarven girl. I would ask that you offer that to my son. Please," Gilraen rasped. "He is your kin, after all, however distantly. I cannot bear the thought of this boy being hunted. I know such a thing must happen in his future, but if you could but help me prolong such a happening, I would forever be in your debt."_

 _Elrond nodded and set the quieted child down on the ground where he started walking around the chamber and investigating, casting glances at Arathell every now and then who watched his movements. He was unbalanced, and clumsy, but she knew that these things would only be remnants of his past one day. "If we are to house him, he cannot go by the name you have given him. He must remain a secret from everyone." She swiveled her head and met her father's gaze. "Including the Council," he said coolly and she nodded, knowing of which council member her father was speaking of. "I will inform Lady Galadriel of this however, and Arathell, you may inform Mithrandir." He looked back at the boy when she nodded in agreement. "He cannot know of his destiny, not yet. Until he learns of his identity, he will be known as Estel."_

 _Her eyes sparkled with joy when she looked down at the baby. "You are our only hope, little one," she whispered before looking back at the mother. "He could not be in safer hands."_

 _She left the chamber, immediately running into Kara. "Don't hide anything from me," the young woman warned. "Who is the baby?" She trailed after her easily, despite her smaller strides. She could feel the curiosity burning its way through Kara, but Arathell knew that this was a secret that even her own daughter could not be informed of. She was still even unsure if her father intended to share the information with her brothers and sister._

 _"His name is Estel, Kara," Arathell informed with a passive face, despite knowing that Kara was likely to see through it without even trying. "You must look after him, for I am bound to a mission. I do not know when I shall return, but I promise I will with haste, if I can."_

 _"You mysteriously leave as soon as a baby arrives? Who is he really?" Kara smarted, having learned at an early age of her foster mother's sharp tongue._

 _"I learned from Lord Elrond that the place where the baby and his mother come from has been attacked. The Enemy will be making his strike soon, I fear. But it is up to me to protect Middle Earth for as long as possible, which is why I must leave, Kara. Now, no more questions," she berated, walking into her chambers and laying out her armor to change into. "I have no time to waste, child."_

 _"I wish you would stop calling me that," Kara muttered and Arathell sent her a sharp look that was soon pacified by a smile._

 _"It is what I first called you. You cannot expect me to lose touch with that sentiment?" she teased, having no shame of undressing and dressing in front of Kara. When the girl had first arrived to Imladris, Arathell had worried about not forming any kind of bond with the child, but that bond had come quicker than she had expected. Kara had refused to leave her side for a moment, and that led to Arathell doing things she would normally do in solitude to doing them with an audience. And Arathell had never been particularly ashamed of her body – Lindir could attest to that well enough, she was sure._

 _Kara shook her head and folded her arms, a trait that was purely inherited from her Dwarven heritage, as there was never an Elf who crossed their arms. "I am not a child anymore," she stated._

 _"You call me Mother, even though you know that I did not birth you," Arathell reminded, pulling on her boots tightly and doing up the laces swiftly._

 _The Dwarf shrugged. "I have always seen you as my mother. I have very few memories of Mara."_

 _Arathell smiled and stood, putting on her belt and strapping her weapons to it. "I have always seen you as my child," she retorted. "But you should not speak that way of your mother. She loved you enough to die for you. That is not something to speak with a bad tone about. I knew your mother long before you were even a thought in her head. There are few people I know who are more loving than her, and she deserves your respect."_

 _"Then why could she not live long enough for me to know her properly if I was so important to her? She did no more than leave me on a doorstep and abandon me," Kara growled, their playful game discarded as Kara's ever-distasteful feelings regarding her birth mother grew. It was the only darkness that Arathell had ever been able to find within her daughter, but she understood the sentiment well enough, having experienced a somewhat abandonment from her own mother long ago. Still, it hurt Arathell to know that Kara did not understand the gravity of what her mother had done for her – it was something that she would have to accept with time. If anything, Arathell expected that she would not fully understand her mother's actions until she herself was a mother to children of her own._

 _"Mara never intentionally abandoned you, Kara, you must remember that," Arathell snapped. "She was elderly when she begot you and her heart could not continue after such an excitement. So she went to a place where she could forever watch over you and marvel at the woman you have become and will become."_

 _Kara sighed and rested her arms and chin on the high bed. "I was not under the impression that elders could have children." She quirked an eyebrow at her, showing her question to her mother._

 _Arathell nodded in agreement. "By all rights you should have been impossible. I have never heard of a case like yours. Mara believed that it was nothing but a blessing from the Valar and that it was a sure sign that you were meant to go on to do great things in your life."_

 _"I am fifty-nine, Mother and nothing spectacular has happened to me yet," Kara grumbled. "I have lived with Elves my entire life and have never seen outside of our borders."_

 _Again Arathell smiled and ran her hand over her daughter's hair. "That you can remember," she soothed. "When I return, I am sure that adventure will sweep you away from me. As much as I hate to admit it, you are a warrior at heart, like your family and you will be needed." She sighed and finished with her gear. "Now, child, it is time that I leave. Watch over Estel and ensure his protection."_

 _"Does he need protecting?" Kara remarked, arching an eyebrow at her._

 _"All infants need protecting," Arathell replied before quitting the room and going quickly to the stables. She had no idea where to start looking for Mithrandir. He had always been known to be a bit of a wanderer and didn't often report his location when he stopped to settle for a time. Furthermore, even when he did stop, rarely did he ever tell people of his true name, making him that much harder to find. But her father had appointed her with this task, and she was determined to finish it. The news she had for the Wizard was dire indeed._

* * *

 **So, that was a pretty significant chapter! I hope you liked it! I'm sorry if it sounded a touch awkward towards the beginning. Looking back, I probably could have included the first scene with the last chapter. But I wanted Kara to be a surprise right at the beginning. I hope you like her. She will most definitely be a part of this story... I'm sure you all can guess how. ;)**

 **And we finally have Aragorn on the scene! That just leaves the introduction of... well a lot of critical characters, but still!**

 **Check out the song, as always! It is adorable!**

 **And please leave a review! I absolutely love hearing from all of you! You make me a very happy writer, indeed!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey there everyone! Thanks for the response, as always! You guys make me a happy writer! Please keep the comments coming! I know that it is totally premature, but...** there is a surprise once we get to one hundred reviews **. I will tell you more about it once we get closer. But that is just something to keep in mind.**

 **This is a very long chapter today! No Kara unfortunately. But we get some Thorin! And we actually have dialogue FINALLY from the movies: Desolation of Smaug time... or I guess it should have been Unexpected Journey, but whatever. Okay, so extended edition stuff is present, but given the altering I committed with Jackson to align myself with Tolkien's universe, some of the lines may be a little skewed. So, pay attention, I guess is the only thing I can say about that. As always, if you have questions, let me know! I like answering them as my lovely friend Certh can tell you. Haha**

 **Onto the story, I guess. Oh, yes, and the song from the last chapter was called "Dear Daughter" by Halestorm. I'm glad that someone knew it without the title! Haha my apologies!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Tolkien's Hobbit or the movie adaptations presented by Jackson. I do, however, own Arathell and Kara, as well as our poor, deceased Mara.**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

It Has Begun - Starset

"As we walk in a straight line  
Down in the dirt with a landslide approaching  
But nothing could ever stop us  
From stealing our own place in the sun  
We will face the odds against us  
And run into the fear we run from

It has begun"

 _ **T.A. March 15, 2941 – Outskirts of Bree**_

 _Middle Earth was an exceptionally large place, she had learned. It had been seven years since she had seen her home, all in attempt to find the Wizard and tell him of the supposed latest development. Surely, there was new information, but Arathell hadn't learned of any._

 _She tracked the Wizard as best as she could, but it was obvious that he didn't want to be found. He would be able to hide better than any Ranger of the North. The last hint of Gandalf she had caught had found him circling the Shire, and then finally the small town of Bree. Arathell had been there several times, but it was never a place she was terribly fond of. The air was always thick with water if it wasn't raining, and chances were that it was._

 _Her hair stuck to her face as she walked inside the Prancing Pony. If Mithrandir was here, then she was sure that the local tavern would know something of it. She kept her hood drawn over her head, hiding her race well. The ethereal glow of the Elves could not even climb out of the mucky rainwater that clung to her features. She walked to the front, leaning heavily on the counter as a Woman would do. "I am looking for someone," she announced, catching the bartender's attention._

 _He was a kindly fellow, as she had learned of several occasions. Clearly, Butterbur recognized her and smiled, but she could tell that he was wary. Arathell had always portrayed herself as being a Ranger, strong and quiet, and everywhere she went, it seemed that the name Shadow had been heard before. "Mistress Shadow," he greeted carefully, bowing his head. "You look for someone?"_

 _"Yes," she grunted, pulling out a pouch of coin to barter with if need be. "I don't suppose you have heard of Gandalf the Grey? It is rumored that he is in these parts, and I would speak with him. The matter is urgent, I assure you."_

 _A hand fell on her arm and she did not need to look to see who it belonged to. "Some wine," he said politely to the bartender who nodded and moved to draw up the drink. "It is not common to find you here, Shadow," he murmured, taking her to a table that was further away from the clamor of the drunken men. Nevertheless, she appreciated that he cloaked her true identity with her alias. "And you look for me?"_

 _"Gandalf," she sighed, keeping her hood on. "Yes, I look for you. I have been searching for seven years now, and relief is my only emotion at the moment."_

 _"If I had known, I would not have led you on such a chase, my lady. What is this news?" he asked, taking the wine that was soon offered to him. Another cup was offered to her, but she waved it away, giving the maid a coin that would cover the two drinks._

 _Arathell shook her head. "I will not speak of it here," she told him. "I find that when Women carelessly show the undersides of their skirts, they share gossip just as carelessly and this is not something to be circulated."_

 _Gandalf nodded and looked over to another table, sighing. "My lady, I do have engagements in Bree that I must attend to first. I don't suppose you remember Thorin Oakenshield?"_

 _Arathell followed his gaze and she saw the Dwarf lord himself. She also quickly took notice of the two Men that began to close ranks around him. Gandalf must have seen it as well, for he stood abruptly and moved to sit at the table. She followed closely and pulled another chair over to join them, staring at the bald Man in the corner long enough to make him look away._

 _"Mind if we join you?" Gandalf said as Thorin slowly released his grip on his sword. He grasped a maid's arm. "I'll have the same." The men in the corners retreated into their darkness, Thorin sighing. "I am told you have met this lady?" Gandalf sighed, gesturing to her._

 _"My lord, Thorin," she said politely, bowing her head and seeing him return the gesture, though he was wary, which was understandable. Even a Dwarf knew the likelihood of an Elf as far West as Bree. He likely thought that she was tracking him as the two Men around them were. Nevertheless, he had not changed at all in the over fifty years since she had last seen him. There were streaks of grey that dappled his dark tresses, and the fur that enveloped him was old and worn, but he was still Thorin. He was still handsome._

 _"I suppose I should introduce myself," her companion started. "My name is Gandalf." Thorin looked carefully at him. "Gandalf the Grey," he soon specified. Arathell rolled her eyes, wondering why the Dwarf was so important in whatever it was that the Wizard was planning. Surely it could not trump her urgent errand of meeting with him._

 _"I know who you are," Thorin replied in a hushed voice._

 _Gandalf looked excited by the words and folded his hands and bounced them on the table. "Well, now, this is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?" he asked in a more serious tone._

 _Thorin was troubled at first, debating on whether to tell the Wizard anything. "Gandalf is a most trusted friend, my lord," she interrupted his thoughts. "You may tell him anything and he will keep it to himself, I assure you." Mithrandir smiled widely at her but she focused on the Dwarf's indecision._

 _"I have received word that my father has been seen wandering the Wild in Dunland," he finally answered. Arathell frowned, knowing for certain that Thráin had departed this world. But if Thorin did not know of this, then it could only mean that the information was being kept from him for a purpose, and she would not be the one to tell the King anything. "I went looking," Thorin continued. "I found no sign of him," he finished, looking downwards. It was then that she looked at the Wizard, hoping that Thorin would be allowed to know the true fate of his father._

 _"Ah, Thráin," Gandalf drawled and she cast him Thorin a glance._

 _Thorin sat back in his seat and cast eyes between them both. "You're like the others," he claimed and she made no move to deny whatever it was the others believed. It was likely to be true. "You think he's dead."_

 _"Thorin," Gandalf replied surely, "it's been a long time since anything but rumor was heard of Thráin." She scoffed at his answer._

 _The King looked fiercely at her companion. "He still lives," he whispered. "I am sure of it."_

 _"The ring your grandfather wore," Gandalf murmured curiously, "one of the seven given to the Dwarf lords many years ago… what became of it?"_

 _Thorin shook his head, confused. "He gave it to my father before they went into battle," he mentioned._

 _"So Thráin was wearing it when he went missing," Gandalf surmised. Thorin gave him one stout nod. "That's that then." She only looked at Gandalf, wondering what on earth the Wizard was thinking about. She knew the story of all of the rings of the Dwarves, but he should have known from seeing Thráin approaching death that he was wearing it when he died. Why would he ask about it? Food was laid out before Gandalf, who took to eating quite quickly. "My father came to see you before he went missing." Arathell felt guilt gnaw at her heart and when she went to look at Thorin, she found that he was actually speaking to Gandalf on the matter. She looked back at her friend, surprised that he had kept that information from her when he first spoke to her about Thráin's death. "What did you say to him?" Thorin demanded and she was just as curious to know._

 _Gandalf looked at her briefly before turning back to the Dwarf. "I urged him to march upon Erebor, to rally the seven armies of the Dwarves, to destroy the Dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain," he said. Arathell felt stung at the words, knowing that she had given the King different advice. To this day, she stood by that advice, and knowing now that it was Gandalf who put the thought in Thráin's head, her heart eased slightly. She didn't like that Mithrandir had kept that conversation from her when he had known how much she was blaming herself for the loss of Thráin. But she also knew that the Wizard never did anything without a purpose. "And I would say the same to you," he uttered, drawing her from her thoughts. She glanced at Thorin, seeing his features set in what she interpreted to be anger, an emotion that she could understand well, for she was confident that she would feel that way as well if she had been thrown into such a predicament. "Take back your homeland."_

 _Thorin pushed away the rest of his meal and went to take a drink from his mug. "This is no chance meeting, is it, Gandalf?" he drawled. "But I would not have expected an Elf to rally so readily to a cause of Dwarves," he finished, looking at her._

 _"You expected correctly," she answered. "My love for Dwarves has not dramatically changed since we met last. If you must know, I consider Gandalf's advice to be foolhardy, and I told your father as such when he met with me." Thorin's eyes widened with alarm. "Thráin was a good man, but after losing Thrór, I fear that he lost a piece of his mind as well." Thorin looked ready to interrupt, but she held up her hand. "But none of that matters now. I am not here for you, rather for Gandalf, and the sooner your conversation here is done, I must speak with him. Carry on with your business, but do it speedily; my patience grows thin."_

 _"No," Gandalf answered, drawing Thorin's eyes back to him. "It is no chance meeting at all. The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That Dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn towards Erebor. I ran into some unsavory characters whilst travelling in the Green Fields. They mistook me for a vagabond," he stated._

 _"I imagine their regret at that," Thorin replied sarcastically._

 _"One of them was carrying a message," he said, taking out a piece of cloth with writing. She saw the runes on the cloth and looked away violently, recognizing the language and feeling ill. "It is Black Speech," he told Thorin, the Dwarf retracting his hand slightly. "A promise of payment," Gandalf translated, and when she forced herself to look at it, she sighed in displeasure when she translated the rest of it and what it was for._

 _"For what?" Thorin demanded._

 _"Your head," she replied, Thorin now looking worriedly back at the Men from the corners._

 _"Someone wants you dead," Gandalf continued in a darker tone. "Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are heir to the throne of Durin. Unite the armies of the Dwarves. Together you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven Dwarf families. Demand they stand by their oath."_

 _"The seven armies swore an oath to one who wields the King's Jewel, the Arkenstone. It is the only thing that will unite them and in case you have forgotten that Jewel was stolen by Smaug." Arathell watched as the Men gave up their task and left the tavern, all three feeling a little easier. It was not that they would not be able to fight away the Men simply that it was unwise to draw attention to herself and she was sure that the others wouldn't want that either._

 _"What if I were to help you reclaim it?" Gandalf asked, making her mouth open in surprise. It was not often that the wandering Wizard truly loaned out his abilities to a band of others unless the need was great. It was clear that Mithrandir truly was frightened of what was to come, and if he could be frightened, then she saw no reason why she should not be frightened as well._

 _"How?" Thorin asked, completely mesmerized by Gandalf's words. "The Arkenstone lies half a world away, buried beneath the feet of a fire-breathing Dragon."_

 _"Yes," Gandalf agreed with a twinkle in his eye. "Which is why we are going to need a burglar."_

 _"An Elf?" Thorin scoffed, looking at her._

 _"I told you already that I am not here because of you," she growled. "And I do not allow my services to be volunteered by anyone, Mithrandir," she snapped._

 _"No, you are quite right, my lady," Gandalf said simply. "The Dragon knows the smell of your race, but I know of a race that has not hit his nose before – Hobbits."_

 _She chuckled lightly. "I do not believe you will be able to find a Hobbit who is willing to cast himself into danger. They are very much creatures of habit and do not like adventures. Even the Hobbits here in Bree cannot be spoken of differently despite their tolerance for the ones they call Big People. How are you going to convince one to join you on this quest?"_

 _The Wizard shrugged. "I already know of one who may be willing to help. And as you said, it is no matter of yours, so I will set myself to the task of finding the perfect burglar. Do you doubt my words, Shadow?" he asked._

 _She sneered and looked away, standing from her seat. "Unless you find more to speak about, I must have council with you Gandalf and the Dwarf cannot be present for that."_

 _"No, I believe our discussion is quite finished," Gandalf agreed happily. "Although, Thorin you ought to try to gather at least a few friends to your cause. If at all possible, gather the Dwarf families themselves. I shall ride to the Shire, and my lady Shadow may join? I will meet with you once you have found the rest of your chosen companions, Thorin." He looked back to her with an innocence she could only recall seeing in a child's eyes. It was a strange sight to see, considering the grey of his hair and the wrinkles adorning his face. But it was familiar to her, a look that came from thousands of years ago when they first had met. It gave her heart some happiness to see his face in such an expression once more._

 _She nodded and looked to Thorin. "I still do not support this decision, but as I told your father, I give you my best wishes and hope that you receive what you seek." She did not wait for any further words, leaving the tavern and finding her horse in the downpour. By the Valar, she terribly disliked Bree and its weather._

 _Gandalf and Thorin emerged from the inn, speaking words to each other before finally going their separate ways. Gandalf found his horse and mounted it, not waiting for her to catch up._

 _They rode until they found the cover of trees, where the air was only humid. She finally pulled back her hood, giving her hair a slight shake. "I cannot stay with you, Mithrandir," she told him loudly. "I have abandoned my post in Imladris long enough and I will not be delayed any longer. So, I will get down to it at once," she hurried, not even dismounting her horse. "Imladris has a new inhabitant."_

 _"Yes, I had heard that you have taken a foster daughter, Arathell, and for that I am proud of you," Gandalf sighed. "A Dwarf, if I am not mistaken."_

 _"You are correct, Mithrandir, but that is not the news," she said quickly._

 _"I don't suppose you would mind very much if I brought my company of Dwarves to Rivendell when we finally set out on the road," he continued, clearly ignoring her. "If you have a Dwarven maiden, it may be possible that she will finally find her own outlet and be able to join the Company, do you think? Does she long for adventure?"_

 _Arathell started to berate him for ignoring her until she thought harder about his question. Kara had rebelled from the beginning, and while she loved her like true a mother would love her daughter, this daughter did not belong in Imladris. She was a Dwarf, through and through, and it was evident in the ways that she behaved. Her manners resembled that of Dwarves and while she had decorum, it was nothing compared to the Elves. She loved Kara deeply, but she knew that maybe it was time to let her go and experience her real world. Mara had said that her daughter had to be destined for greatness, and there just so happened to be a band of Dwarves that would be on a_ _quest to reclaim their real home. It was as sure a sign from the Valar as she ever hoped to receive. "You are right," she surrendered, climbing off of her horse. "Kara does not need Elves like she needs those of her own race. She speaks often of leaving and experiencing the world on her own without me, and I loathe it. As strange as it seems, Mithrandir, I have come to love the child, and I don't wish to be parted from her. But I can see that it is with love that I must part from her, is it not? This may be her only opportunity to experience her people."_

 _"Quite right, Arathell, but as I recall you mentioned that there was other news," Mithrandir said playfully, earning a sigh from her._

 _"Other than Kara, Imladris is occupied by more than Elves and a Dwarf now." Gandalf looked at her curiously. "Seven years ago now, a woman by the name of Gilraen came to Rivendell, seeking shelter after the slaughter of her husband. Her husband was Arathorn, Mithrandir. But she came with his son, Aragorn. He is being raised in my home, hidden. He does not go by the name his mother gifted him, rather Estel, signifying that he is truly our last hope. We must keep him secret, you understand."_

 _"Isildur's line still exists," he murmured, looking baffled. "This is better than we could have prayed, Arathell. Sauron fears that line, and to know that that fear is still real… We may yet have a chance at completely ridding Middle Earth of his treachery."_

 _"As was our thinking," she agreed but hurriedly took his arm. "However, my father is determined to only let a few know of Aragorn's coming to Imladris."_

 _"Who?" he demanded._

 _"Lady Galadriel will know and you will know. I suspect Celeborn will also. My father does not deem it wise to tell Lord Saruman. The three of us have long suspected that his mind will soon turn dark; his fortress of Isengard strengthens this notion. Lord Elrond has even stated the possibility that one of the lost palantir is in his possession. We know that the Enemy will have one, and this may be how Saruman is turned. He cannot know. If the Istar should prove however that his only intention is good and he remains our ally, we may consider telling him. For now though, this remains between the three of you and the rest of my family. Kara will not even know."_

 _Gandalf sighed and put his forehead in his hand. "To even think such a thing as this," he started his voice harsher than she was used to. "He is the head of the Council and he practically controls the other four Wizards. What you suggest is outlandish and impossible."_

 _She shook her head and held his hands. "It is also something that my family has discussed at length about for more than one thousand years. We are not as stubborn as Dwarves, but to erase a thought that has been in our minds for this long, you will have great difficulty. Please, Mithrandir," she whispered. "I would hate to regret telling you this update. We have never once doubted your loyalty to a warm Middle Earth, and we would not like to start now. Do this for us, even though we may be wrong. And if we are, you know that my family will not stint on apologies."_

 _"All in your family except you," he retorted, still sounding angry._

 _"I have never cared for him, and he knows this. Just because he could be an ally does not mean that my person and his will ever get along amiably."_

 _Gandalf finally nodded. "If this is your decision, then I thank you for telling me. And thank you for trusting me with this information for it does mean much to me."_

 _Arathell smiled, feeling accomplished for achieving what she had set out to do. She inclined her head slightly and climbed back on her horse, hushing the beast to keep him quiet in the dangerous woods. "Mithrandir, I do not pretend to know why you hope to take back the Lonely Mountain, but I wish you all the luck in the world. For luck is something you will need in surplus to do this task." She sighed. "If your journey does find its way to Imladris, then my I will leave it to my daughter to decide where her heart chooses to live. If she is anything like me, I suspect she will flee from my family as I did all those years ago," she chuckled and then became somber. "She did not come from my blood, but there are times when I look at her, Mithrandir, and I believe she came from my mind; we have such a temperament."_

 _"I am happy for you. You have needed joy for some time," Gandalf replied._

 _"Is this what you meant?" she asked suddenly, situating herself more comfortably in the saddle. "When you told me that joyful emotions are on their way to surround me?"_

 _Gandalf laughed. "This is not what I have specifically in mind, but it is wonderful nonetheless. No, my dear, I believe that the joy I spoke of is still lingering in the distance." She gave him a questioning look, begging him to elaborate, but he only raised his eyebrow. "You must be missing Kara. I would return to her, if I were you."_

 _"One more thing," she hastened. Gandalf gestured for her to continue. "Why ask about Thrór's ring?"_

 _Gandalf sighed and gave her a gentle smile. "It always will come back to the rings Sauron had forged, my lady. We have long since known that Sauron would try to attain all of the rings back to him if he were to come again to full power. It is unlikely that he will ever attain the rings of the Elves, but nevertheless. The rings of the Dwarves are well within his grasp. There are some that have been unaccounted for, but that number has been reduced this night, now that we know that Thráin had the ring when he died."_

 _"But if Thráin died within Dol-Guldur, then would this enemy not have the ring?" Arathell rounded._

 _The old man shook his head in sorrow. "It was a necessary fall. Fortunately, he has only acquired three of the seven. And truthfully, I do believe that it is far better this way: now he cannot hope to control the line of Durin. Now go! The woods are not safe for a maiden as fair as you. Men have greedy and lustful minds as you well know."_

 _Arathell glared at her companion but could not help but giggle a moment later at the Wizard's antics – ever playful he was._

* * *

 **So that's that! And all one scene! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe that is the first time that has happened! Well, I happily say that you ought to get used to it! Time jumps are still going to be frequent, but not nearly as frequent now. Yay!**

 **Listen to the music!**

 **And leave a review!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi, all! So sorry for the late update. I had some... VERY unexpected family dilemmas and then ensuing family drama that is still being cleaned up almost a month later now... Not to mention that I have just moved back to college and classes start for me tomorrow... I have been very busy, I assure you. I haven't even had time to write! I know that doesn't mean much to you, but it is very serious when that happens; trust me.**

 **ANYWAY! Thanks for your understanding.**

 **Thanks to those of you who reviewed! I'd love to hear from more of you though! The reviews where a little bit mixed this time, which is just fine. I get a little frustrated with an author on occasion as well. Just know that I have my reasons for writing things this way. You have to keep in mind that the story is almost completely finished and I have woven in these "past" events that you are reading now into my future writing. So, it all works. I promise. :)**

 **Back to the story, at last! And keep the reviews coming!**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

This is Home - Switchfoot

"This is home  
Now I'm finally where I belong  
Where I Belong  
Yeah, this is home  
I've been searching for a place of my own  
Now I've found it  
Maybe this is home  
This is home"

 _ **T.A. May 7, 2941 – Borders of Imladris**_

 _"Why could they be here?" she pondered aloud after a final gurgle of black was whispered into the wind. Her sword was dirtied by the Orc filth, but this was something that her weapon had always thirsted for. Her sword, which had since been named Ristor, the Ripper, had been her friend since she had first handled a blade. She no longer felt heavy in her hand and she balanced perfectly on her Arathell's hand, never dulling. If anything, Arathell supposed that her sword had only grown sharper against the weak material the Orcs used to armor themselves. Her bow, which she used sparingly, had long endured her hand as well, deserving a name of its own: Finelleth, Elf-maid hair. Arathell had always looked at the bow as such a graceful instrument of war, dancing through the air to injure the target. However, there was not always a guarantee of death, and war was never something she wanted to consider as a graceful act._

 _"It does not matter now, my daughter," her father hummed. "They are gone."_

 _"I wish to follow them, see where their source is," she announced, beginning to turn Daeroch after the Wargs. "If you kill a pest at its source, it surely will bother you no longer."_

 _"No," her father snapped, earning her surrender. "They are gone," he repeated. "You are not equipped to contend with whatever horror their nest contains. The Wargs will not so easily be outrun, even by your beast. We will make for home."_

 _Arathell nodded her surrender, following her father steadily. It had always been a strange occurrence to see him on a horse and in the clamor of swords and growls. But it had been beautiful! His skill reminded her much of a wind storm, as if he was sweeping up the earth to help him with his foes. His blades would sparkle and blind his opponent, making her wonder if for a moment they would be mesmerized by his power before their death came._

 _But it mattered not, she thought, the smell of the waterfalls and fruit trees entering her nose. Never once allowing her guard to drop, she quickly took notice of a rather large gathering of Dwarves, standing at the entrance to her home. The tall elder in the front was recognizable enough, and she soon knew the purpose and even who they were. She grinned to herself maliciously, and wondered what kind of fury Thorin Oakenshield would unleash once he learned her true identity._

 _Their party circled the huddled Dwarves and she fought the laugh in her throat at how they pointed their axes and spears at her, as if they would really be able to stand a chance with her kin on horseback._

 _"Gandalf!" her father called to the Wizard while she waited on her horse._

 _"My lord, Elrond. Mellon nin," Mithrandir replied happily with a bow. "Where have you been?" he carried on in her native tongue, an act that she was sure the Dwarves would not appreciate._

 _"We've been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South," her father answered in Sindarin. He slid off his horse before he continued. "We slew a number near the Hidden Pass." The two embraced before her father showed parcels from their most recent battle. "Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders. Something or someone has drawn them near," he said in Common Speech, passing the wrapped weapon to Lindir._

 _"Ah," Mithrandir exclaimed. "That may have been us."_

 _Arathell watched as Thorin quickly moved out from the center of the huddle to greet her father properly. If the fifty years with him had meant anything, she could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he was not pleased to be in this company. "Welcome Thorin, son of Thráin," her father said politely, but she was confident that her kin would know better than to expect courtesy from the Dwarf King._

 _"I do not believe we have met," Thorin said with a surprisingly calm voice. Her own company soon began to disband and make their way to the stables, and only a moment later she followed, no longer interested in the conversation occurring._

 _With Daeroch having his fill of carrots, she hurried to her chamber, calling up the maid to draw her up a warm bath. She would give Thorin a surprise if she could, seeing as how he was practically unaffected by her presence at the Prancing Pony._

 _Clothing herself in a misty grey, befitting the name Shadow, she moved to the dining hall, where there were cries of exuberance._

 _"Mother!" a call announced before she walked outside to join the Dwarves. "There are others! Others like me! Dwarves!" she yelped looking the happiest Arathell had believed she had ever seen her. "Oh, I don't even know what to do! Should I join them? How do I introduce myself? Mother, don't laugh, my plight is dire!"_

 _Arathell laughed still and pulled Kara close. "Dwarf lords like pride, child. They will not see it fit that you act like Elf-kind. Be friendly but be bold. Be proud but not arrogant. As for introductions, well I do believe we shall both have our fun with that venture." Without waiting for Kara to reply, she grabbed her daughter's shoulder and led her outdoors where the band of Dwarves was eating. "My lords," she announced, the harp and flute music coming to a disrupted halt. Her father looked at her as he had when she was young and crass, but she paid no heed. "Might I introduce my foster daughter, Kara, daughter of Mara from the Blue Mountains?" The silence that she was awarded with was grand, and Kara shuffled nervously until Arathell bumped her with her elbow._

 _"My lords," Kara greeted, her cheeks a bloom of red._

 _"I myself am Lady Arathell, daughter to your host, Lord Elrond," she carried on, looking at Thorin specifically. His hand clenched into a fist as he glared at her without shame, but she grinned at him and moved her daughter to a seat next to the youngest looking Dwarf she could find. "I pray that you would allow Kara to join you?" she asked politely, Kara blushing even more. When Arathell got a closer look at this particular Dwarf, even she could not deny the potential of his appearance. His hair was a dark brown and he did not have a full beard, merely scruff. But he had warm brown eyes that looked like they were friendly._

 _The Dwarf in question stood and made a bow to them. "Kili," he said. "At your service, my lady," he took her hand and kissed it gently, Kara's cheeks becoming even redder. Arathell suddenly wondered if the other looking young one with the scholarly appearance would have been a better choice._

 _Kara didn't wait to be invited to sit; she merely retracted her hand and took her seat, rummaging through the food available with speed and precision. The other Dwarves were still silent as they watched her, but soon their natural giddiness was renewed and it was as if she was already adopted into their group. It made her smile, but she couldn't deny the twang she felt at her heart when she realized how quickly she was already losing her daughter._

 _Deciding to busy herself with other things, she turned and found Thorin leaning against a tree. "My lord, are you surprised?" she teased._

 _Thorin glared at her. "You've been lying to me since first we met," he growled. "You claimed to have no master and that you roam the Wild alone."_

 _"Those were not lies, Thorin," she reminded. "My father does not own me and does not have influence over my choices. If he did, you surely would have never met me at all, my lord. And I do often roam the Wild alone, as can be proven by the last time we met. I had only recently stumbled upon Gandalf, if you recall correctly."_

 _"Your name is not Shadow," he rebutted._

 _"And you knew that all from our first meeting. You yourself even said that it was not my name and I did not deny that. But alas, you have my name now," she reasoned with a smile, but his frown remained intact. "My lord, you have the remarkable ability to look irate whenever you want. But now is not the time to be irate. I gave you help then, and I am here in my homeland to give you help now. You have forever known of my race, and I have not lied to you about my likes and dislikes, including that of King Thranduil of Greenwood. Can you at least pretend to tolerate me, as it would much better my mood? You are in the Last Homely House East of the Sea; this is cause to rejoice, isn't it?"_

 _Seeing that her progress with the Dwarf was getting her nowhere, she looked away, soon to find herself in front of a Dwarf she would have recognized just by the kindness in his eyes. "Mellon!" she yelped, stooping down and embracing him, happy that someone was not angry to see her. "How are you?"_

 _"I am well, my lady," Balin replied with a chuckle, earning glares from the other Dwarves, but she paid no heed. "It comes as a great surprise to know finally who you truly are."_

 _"You have always known that, dear Balin. You simply did not know my name," she retorted. "So, you travel with Thorin as always, I see." The Dwarf nodded and she smiled warmly. "That is good news. He needs one with counsel on a journey such as this. Moreover, I believe that he needs the support of a friend over anything. And you bring him both."_

 _"I wonder how much longer I will be able to do so," he admitted with a sigh. "I am old now and I believe that my bones are rather weary from all of this travelling as it is. It is a wonder you were able to recognize me at all, actually," he finished with a brighter voice than one he had begun with. "You have not changed at all and are still as beautiful to behold as you were those many years ago. You were a light in the darkness of our lives and I hope that we will be able to repay you someday soon."_

 _Arathell laughed merrily and rested her hand on his shoulder. "I could never forget the eyes of those who were kind to me from the very beginning. You have earned a true friend in me Balin, son of Fundin."_

 _Her conversation with him did not last terribly long before Balin returned to his seat and she went to sit with her father, Mithrandir and Thorin. Glorfindel had recently joined them, she had seen, but he had remained quiet, ever the listener. The Dwarf bristled at her arrival, but did not say a word._

 _Elrond examined a sword and from the curvature of it, she knew immediately which sword it was. "This is Orcist," her father confirmed. "The Goblin Cleaver," he translated, her hands now itching to touch the renowned weapon, but she refrained, taking a drink from her wine instead. "A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West – my kin."_

 _"Our kin," she interrupted, looking firmly at Thorin who only sent her a look of contempt._

 _"May it serve you well." Her father awarded the sword to Thorin who thankfully was polite enough to bow his head in acknowledgment. He soon took another sword from Gandalf, unsheathing it. "This is Glamdring: the Foehammer. Sword of the King of Gondolin." Her father carried on, speaking of the sword, but she looked back to Thorin._

 _"Elves are not known for evil-doing, Thorin," she murmured. "All I ever wanted was to lend you my help, which I have done so."_

 _"I have never liked Elves," he snapped back, and while Elrond paused, he did not address the words. "Your kind betrayed my father and his father before him."_

 _"My kind, perhaps, but my kin, no," she argued. "In fact, I would say that the Elves of Imladris have done nothing to warrant your tone. I joined your cause in Moria and helped settle your people into the Blue Mountains. I house a Dwarf from that land and look at her as my daughter. Even now, my father sits at the same table as you and feeds your company generously. And he allows you to keep weapons that that were made by our family."_

 _"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" Elrond asked, catching both of their attentions._

 _Thorin stood from his seat, excusing himself. It was only a moment later that another Dwarf jumped to stand on the tables, walking until he reached a pedestal. He began singing barbarically in her opinion, but the others seemed to enjoy his voice and his mirth. A glance at her daughter proved that it was with this company that she belonged. She clapped along to the song with a grand smile on her face and a twinkle in her green eyes. There was no question of decorum or etiquette buried in those orbs, only a sense of belonging and peace. Arathell wondered if she would ever feel such a peace._

 _The Dwarves began tossing food about, laughing loudly and causing her father to look disturbed and Glorfindel to look positively befuddled. She had been around Dwarves enough to know of their customs, and even their songs. Their behavior did not shock her, but her daughter joining in at the chorus did. Arathell had made sure to teach her of all of the songs she could remember, but to see Kara shedding bashfulness and sing along with them made her proud. After the song, the other Dwarves began looking strangely at her._

 _"I do not believe I have ever seen such chaos at a dinner," Glorfindel remarked._

 _She gave him her most dazzling grin and gently tapped his forearm in comfort. "Then trust my expertise when I say that it is nothing out of the ordinary for them." He only shook his head in disbelief and continued to eat and listen to conversation Elrond and Gandalf restarted._

 _Slowly, she moved to sit closer to their group where she could catch their conversation more easily. "You know of our songs, my lady?" the one named Kili asked._

 _Kara nodded obviously. "Mother wanted me to learn my own culture. I know many songs of my people as well as pieces of the language. I understand that Khuzdul is protected quite fiercely, so even she could not have told me everything. But she has taught me some."_

 _"It does not surprise me," Balin said with a grandfatherly smile that made Arathell feel comfortable. "Shadow stayed with us for fifty years in the Blue Mountains and she was never stingy when it came to learning."_

 _"How came you to be here?" a bald one with grisly tattoos asked gruffly. "Surely a Dwarf maiden should be with her own people and not being watched over by this breed."_

 _For the first time, Kara bristled in their presence and it did Arathell proud to see her daughter standing up for her home. A common lady, even a common Dwarven lady may have remained silent, but Arathell had taught her daughter better than that. "This breed raised me when no one else would, Master Dwalin," she snapped. "My father and brothers were killed in battle, long ago. Mara and my mother had been close when she lived with the Dwarves. My mother instructed Mara to come to Imladris should any trouble ever ail her. After the deaths, Mara fled here. She was old and could not take care of me herself. Actually, upon handing me over to my mother, Mara died before she ever set foot in Imladris. So, I would greatly appreciate it if you would treat my hosts with the gratitude that I do and realize that they are not all as evil as you spout."_

 _Another growled in Khuzdul and she then noticed that an axe blade was embedded in his skull, but the wound did not bleed. Dwarves were such a strange race, she couldn't help but think. Even being in their company for half of a century, she still could be awed by their presence._

 _"What do you ask me regarding my mother?" Kara seethed with a hearty glare._

 _The others fell silent before Balin hesitantly translated it. "He believes you hold contempt for your true mother," he explained._

" _Not by any spell of the Elves," Kara responded, looking at the Dwarf. "Mother loved Mara as if Mara was her own mother. Mara died for me to live, and I do not take that lightly. I simply wish that I had been birthed to her sooner, so that I may know her better now. But she was too old to live for her daughter."_

 _"How can an old maid have a child?" Kili asked, but his question was gentle and he looked at Kara with wonder, not with the anger she had witnessed from the other two._

 _"Not even the Elves know this. Mara and Mother believe that I am meant to do something great in this age and I would be needed. So the Valar made it so."_

 _"Have you done anything great?" another one asked, this one being the one who had sung. He also seemed more curious than angry and there was happiness in his eyes that made her smile._

 _"No, Master Bofur," Kara answered with a smile. "I sit in Rivendell day after day, waiting for adventure to sweep me off of my feet. You are the first Dwarves I have met. Though that is not shocking, considering the relations between the Elves and the Dwarves has never been superb, even at their best of times."_

 _"I would wonder, my lady, if they taught you other arts as well?" Balin asked curiously._

 _"Such as what?" Kara retorted._

 _"You know of our culture, but what of your arm? Can you fight?" he clarified._

 _Kara nodded simply, making Arathell proud indeed. "I can and I do on occasion. Lately, the Orcs have been around our borders and there are times when I venture out to protect Imladris."_

 _"So you've killed before?" Kili asked now with even more wonder._

 _Her daughter nodded again. "The Enemy does not sift through masses to only kill the men. They are merciless and cruel and I will not be found naïve should they come for me."_

 _"How many years do you have?" the one named Dwalin asked._

 _"I am sixty-seven," she replied._

 _"You're young," Balin remarked with a hint of disappointment._

 _Kara arched an eyebrow and rested her elbows on the table. Elrond had always berated her when she did such a thing, but it was never something that could be broken out of her. "And you are old," she retorted. Arathell was about to step in and scold her for her rudeness, but the other Dwarves laughed merrily, resuming their throwing of food towards one another._

* * *

 **And that would be the chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it! I like it very much, and I hope that it was fresh, considering that it was running along with the movie.**

 **In other news, you all should know that my updates will obviously not be coming around as frequently. I am going to try to update once a week, but I probably won't be able to do anymore. I have a very busy workload and not a lot of time to myself. But, as I have said before, I am determined to make this story work and to finish it and get it up here for your enjoyment. You'll just have to be patient with me sometimes. :)**

 **Listen to the music, as always, and I will be replying to reviews tomorrow. It is rather late where I am at and I have a class that starts at eight in the morning so... writer needs her beauty rest, especially since it is the first day of school.**

 **Leave a review!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	13. Chapter 13

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Bent to Fly - Slash featuring Myles Kennedy

"The sky is calling  
The wind is at my shoulders  
Won't let this chance pass me by  
Mama, I'm bent to fly"

 _ **May 7, 2941 - Imladris**_

" _Mother, they are wonderful!" Kara proclaimed when her daughter finally decided to retire. "They are better than I have ever dreamed of!"_

 _Arathell huffed noncommittally. She had learned to accept that her daughter was never completely at rest in Imladris, even when she no longer remembered the Blue Mountains. But the fact that her daughter wished another's presence, other than her own had hurt in a way she could never have imagined. She had expected it, but the pain had somehow caught her off guard. Arathell couldn't help but also wonder whether her father and mother had felt this pang when she confessed to wishing a sword. "Is that so?" she finally asked._

 _Kara grasped her hand, looking serious. "Do you not like them?" she asked quietly, as if she was afraid of the answer._

 _Arathell smiled bravely and touched her daughter's braid – the one she had given to her conferring the love of a mother to a daughter. "They are not my people, child. Seeing you this happy though gives me joy of perhaps the saddest kind."_

 _The Dwarf looked at her confusedly. "Kili said that Elves often relay their answers in both the form of yes and no. Now, I realize that he is correct in his assumption."_

 _Arathell raised her eyebrow at her daughter. "Do you like this Kili?"_

 _Her daughter shrugged, but the blush on her face gave her an answer. "I like all of them," she confessed. "There are thirteen, and then there is the Hobbit. Bilbo seems of a gentle nature and is easy to converse with. But he longs for home; it is obvious in the way he admires our own."_

 _She nodded. "It is custom for Halflings to be home-dwellers. They don't often crave adventure of any kind and keep to themselves, especially those of the Shire, where he is no doubt from."_

 _"But the Dwarves are magnificent!" Kara continued. "Their bonds of family are simply remarkable. They care for their families more than Elves, I think. None of them seem to have gone out on this venture without having some relative to accompany them. There is Óin and Glóin – the two are brothers. Óin seems to be their healer and him and I spoke much about herbs and things. And Glóin and I spoke of his son, waiting for him at home. His name is Gimli. And then there is Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Bofur and Bombur are brothers as well, and Bifur is their cousin. I rather like Bofur and Bifur – I get to practice my Khuzdul with Bifur, even if it is limited, and Bofur is one of the happiest folk I have encountered. He is very fatherly. But Bombur is their cook and he promised me that he would serve me true Dwarven food. And there is Dori, Nori, and Ori. Ori is the youngest and Nori has a wonderful sense of humor. And Dori explained all of the braids that he wears after I complimented their ornamental beauty. And then there is Balin and Dwalin, brothers as well and they are cousins to Óin and Glóin. Balin is so kind and gentle, but it is clear that he is the wisest in their company and he spoke kindly of you. But Dwalin is perhaps the bravest. He asked to spar with me Mother, and I agreed. It would be nice to see how Dwarves are in battle. And then, of course there is Thorin. He is quiet, and I think that there is anger in him. I feel sorry for his plight, whatever it is. They would not tell me anything regarding that, but it is clear from his gaze that it is important."_

 _"That is only eleven," Arathell mentioned, noticing clearly which Dwarf was saved for last in her daughter's assessment._

 _"Yes, because then there is Fili and Kili. They are rather young, aren't they, Mother?" Kara said her voice slower now, as if she was guarding her words carefully. "Fili is the elder, I have ascertained, and he is very kind and friendly. They are the nephews to Thorin, I have learned, so they are both heirs. Kili is much more relaxed than his brother however. I do not think that he feels the pressures of ruling as heavily as his brother and uncle. He spoke so gently to me, Mother, and he asked me many questions. I feel like there is nothing that he does not know about me now – he asked so many!" She sighed and her cheeks were red. "He does not have a beard," she finally stated, surprising Arathell for a moment._

 _"That is an odd thing to say," she commented._

 _"Dwarves are supposed to have beards, even the women, as you have told me. And he does not have one. I know from my readings that it is sometimes mocked to not have facial hair, yet he seems very sure of himself. I do not have facial hair. And now that I have fully seen it, I do not know whether I care for it so much. It is long and messy, like Glóin's. Or it is too heavily braided, like Dori and Nori's."_

 _"Thorin does not have a great beard," Arathell reminded her._

 _"He says he will regrow one eventually though. He keeps it short to remember the Dragon fire that singed away more than just beards all those years ago in Erebor. No, I rather like Kili's beard, for it is small, but it is still masculine."_

 _"I do not like this talk," she said poignantly. "You cannot become attached to these Dwarves, for they will be leaving on their journey sooner or later, and it would not do well to have to weep later at their absence," Arathell finished stiffly._

 _"Where are they going?" Kara asked._

 _"Why should I know?" Arathell snapped, but her daughter did not recoil._

 _"I think you do know; you simply do not wish to tell me in fear that I will run away with them," Kara battled._

 _"If you do ever depart Imladris, I should hope that you do not leave without saying goodbye to me, at least. You owe your mother that much," Arathell replied tiredly._

 _"Where are they going?" Kara repeated._

 _Arathell met her daughter's green eyes calmly and reached out to touch Kara's bare cheeks. "Child, it is not my quest to speak of."_

 _They reached Kara's room and the Dwarf walked inside, turning to look at Arathell one last time. "If they should ask me to join them on this quest you cannot speak of, am I permitted to join them?"_

 _"That is a rather implausible 'if', Kara," Arathell chided._

 _"But it is an 'if' all the same," Kara rushed. "Will you permit me?"_

 _Arathell gave her daughter a tight smile. "Far be it from me to keep you from joy. And I can see easily the joy that you experience with them. If they ask to have you accompany them, you will bear no hindrance from me. But you are not to ask such a question to them." Kara nodded and bid her good evening, leaving Arathell standing in the hall quietly._

 _She joined her father outside where he was in the company of Gandalf, Thorin, Balin, and the Hobbit, Bilbo. "Kara is most pleased with your arrival, my lord," she told the Dwarf leader. "There were no pauses in her words of praise regarding you… or your kin."_

 _"She is a sweet lass," Balin agreed, though Thorin remained silent._

 _"We were just discussing a possession of Thorin's," Mithrandir said gently._

 _"It is mine to protect, as are its secrets," Thorin defied._

 _"Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall," Mithrandir said calmly. "You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond," he demanded._

 _Thorin looked at her questioningly and she nodded her head. "If this map is as Gandalf says it is my father would be the rare jewel that would uncover its secrets. And Dwarves are rumored to appreciate jewels for their worth," she said easily._

 _The King stared at her for a moment longer before he stepped forward and pulled a scrap of papyrus from his coat. Balin did not seem thrilled with the gesture, but remained silent as Thorin handed the copy over. Slowly and maintaining eye contact with Thorin, she stepped over to the map, glancing down at the picture drawn. "Erebor," her father stated. The Dwarves said nothing. "What is your interest in this map?"_

 _"It's mainly academic," Mithrandir hurried before Thorin could say anything. She knew from their conversation in the Prancing Pony that it was an outright lie, but she refrained from saying as much. Elrond was a clever Elf, even by the standards of their race and she was sure that he knew immediately of the map's purpose. But even he did not say anything. "As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text." Her father had already begun to walk more into the light and she followed, staring at the runes carefully. She could not see anything, but Elrond continued to stare. "You still read Ancient Dwarfish, do you not?"_

 _Her father soon provided the answer, and she stared with even more curiosity at the map. She still could not see any indication of this, but she did not doubt him for a moment._

 _"Moon runes," Gandalf translated. "Of course – an easy thing to miss."_

 _"In that case, that is true," Elrond agreed. "Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as on the day of which they were written." He turned back to Thorin and she remained quiet._

 _"Can you read them?" Thorin asked, asking for help at last._

 _"Come with me," Elrond ordered, already walking away from them. She gave another nod of encouragement to Thorin who sighed but followed regardless, thankfully._

 _They soon arrived just behind the waterfall, a crystal pedestal placed at the very edge of the rock and smoothed to a flat table where her father rested the map. "These runes were written on a midsummer's eve, by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight," her father mentioned as the clouds began parting overhead._

 _"At least Fate can discern between friend and foe, wouldn't you say, my lord?" she called. Thorin glared at her, but he still did not say a word._

 _The moonlight danced on the pedestal, making it glow with a celestial light that even made her stand in awe. As she leaned over the map, runes began glowing in front of her. A glance at Thorin proved that he was also impressed by the sight. "'Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks. And the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole,'" Elrond translated, removing the parchment from the crystal and holding it. The glow faded and she stared at Thorin._

 _"Durin's Day?" Bilbo questioned._

 _"It is the start of the Dwarves' New Year," Gandalf explained. "When the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together."_

 _"A very merry time, as I recall," Arathell said casually._

 _"This is ill news," Thorin murmured, beginning a pace and stroking his beard, most likely considering all of those last souls that her daughter told her about. "Summer is passing. Durin's Day will soon be upon us."_

 _"We still have time," Balin assured, exposing the true quest of the Dwarves. She looked to her father, but he did not seem shocked._

 _"Time for what?" Bilbo interrupted again._

 _"To find the entrance," Balin replied. "We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened."_

 _"So this is your purpose," Elrond said. "To enter the Mountain."_

 _"What of it?" Thorin retorted._

 _"There are some who would not deem it wise," Elrond replied, Thorin taking back the map._

 _"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked, only now sounding unsure of himself._

 _Elrond turned to the Wizard. "You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth," he answered, leaving soon after, but she remained for a moment._

 _She turned to Thorin. "What more can the Elves of Imladris do to prove their generosity, my lord?" she asked kindly._

 _Thorin held her gaze before nodding. "You have helped. I will never like Elves, but at least now I am aware of where the truly evil ones dwell," he commented._

 _Arathell shook her head harshly. "None of my kin are evil, even those of Thranduil. He is a misguided being in need of cleansing from the Valar, but that is beyond my capacities. I am sorry for his temperament, but there is nothing I can do. But I appreciate your words nonetheless; I shall hold them in high honor until the end of my days. But now I would ask something of you, to repay the kindness we have bestowed upon your quest."_

 _"Nothing could ever be done from the warmth of your heart, could it?" Thorin growled._

 _She shook her head once more. "Thorin, it is from that warmth that I ask this favor of you." The Dwarf stayed silent, a sign that he was at least willing to hear her plea. "It is Kara. She is young, I grant you, even for your people, but she is strong. I have loved her and given her all that I can. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that there are things that even I cannot grant her. I witnessed the joy in her eyes at dinner this evening. Never before have I seen her so happy and it made me both pleased and saddened. She has long expressed her desire to leave Rivendell and experience the world on her own, without me being present to push her in any specific direction. She is brave and she is loyal and moreover, she is a Dwarf in both body and mind. If you would be so kind as to grant her wish… you will have my full support in your quest and you will have my arm or mind if you call for it."  
_

 _"You ask me to take her, a woman?" Thorin demanded._

 _"I ask you to take a warrior!" she argued. "I cannot give her what she longs for, and it tears at my soul for being inept at this. But after one dinner with your company, her vigor has been renewed. She speaks extensively of all in your company and how she admires each of them." She paused. "I have not told her of what your true quest is, but she is clever enough that I believe she knows already. You could not ask for a more loyal individual. She will keep secrets for you and she will help you in any way she is able. And she is able in many ways. Kara would be an asset in your company, Thorin. She can fight with both sword and bow and she is skilled in healing, and she enjoys cooking."_

 _"All stations we have accounted for," Thorin drawled._

 _"But would it not be wise to have one more? What if you lost your cook or your healer, what then?" she snapped._

 _"Are you threatening my company?"_

 _"You know I would do no such thing!" she yelped. "I have been in the company of Dwarves for half of a century and though I still cannot say I care for them, I respect them greatly. And I love my daughter. All I say is that the more people you have, the greater your chances are for succeeding."_

 _"I cannot guarantee that she will be safe. And I cannot guarantee that she will even live," Thorin grunted, a sign to her that she had actually won the argument. It was such a rare event for her that she had to pause to make sure she understood correctly. "Having another also means that there are more to watch out for."_

 _"I was there when you spoke with Gandalf in Bree," she retorted. "He encouraged you to call the seven Dwarf families – families! If you originally looked for even more families to join you, then it cannot be harmful to add only one individual to your cause. For I do not see Lord Dain present with you."_

 _"Dain can look after himself," Thorin mentioned._

 _"Kara is more than capable of looking after herself. I have trained her myself, Thorin, and you know of my own abilities. Do you truly believe that I would refrain from exploiting every opportunity to prepare my daughter for the world ahead of us? You heard her clearly when she said that she can fight and she has even killed. She is not squeamish and longs for nothing other than to defend a place her heart can call home. I believe that that place could_ _be Erebor if she was exposed. She has read much of your people, Thorin. She has immersed herself in the history of the fortress and enjoys learning about it more than any other Dwarven land, including Dain's. Please. All of these things are things I cannot give her and I would see her happy."_

 _"If she perishes?" Thorin asked calmly._

 _Arathell swallowed, despising the word. But she could not deny that there was a possibility that such a thing could happen to her. "Then I will be able to rest my head knowing that she died doing what she believed to be right. She will have died experiencing more joy than I could ever give her and will have died living a life she has always wanted to."_

 _Thorin nodded. Balin rested a hand on his shoulder. "She should be with her own people," Balin counselled gently. "I believe our Shadow when she speaks like this. We can take another, Thorin and you know it. And I do not doubt her abilities for she bravely met a glare of Dwalin's with one of her own and defended these Elves. And should she ever need protection, it is evident that our company has already become taken with her. They will look after her."_

 _"She is young and beautiful," Thorin mentioned, his resolve diminishing. "Besides being simply taken, any of our company could fall in love with her."_

 _Balin chuckled. "She does not strike me as a seductress. She can hold her own amongst a band of Dwarves. And should anything happen, I do believe that love is a strong protagonist in one's desire to live and carry on, even in the darkest of times."_

 _Arathell frowned. "I do not approve of her falling in love with anybody," she growled. "I will not endorse that for she is still young and should not be chained to another."_

 _"You have never been in love have you, my lady Shadow?" Balin asked sweetly._

 _She bit her tongue and glared. "Love is not your mission. Reclaiming Erebor is your mission. If she is to join you, that will be her mission. I do not send her away with the desire to marry her off to a Dwarf lord."_

 _"Is that a fact?" Thorin asked boldly._

 _"There has never been a truer one," she regarded._

 _She and Thorin stared at one another for a time, their debate internal now and showing only through the eyes of the other. At last, he gave one final nod. "We will be leaving in two weeks, as we have already discussed with your… father. If she is not ready by this time, I will not hesitate to leave her behind. Am I understood?" Arathell nodded. "Balin will write another contract, and I will send my nephew to invite her properly."_

 _"Which nephew?" she asked crudely._

 _"Does it matter?" Bilbo muttered quietly, a reminder that he was actually still present._

 _"It does," Arathell agreed. "For as loathe as I am to say so, it is my belief that Kara… well she may or may not have a particular fondness for your darker kin. To prove that I do not endorse the matter of love, I would put in a request to either send your eldest heir or to send someone else entirely. Furthermore, as she is to soon be out of my reach, I would also ask if you would mind to keep them separate from one another – to keep your company focused on its true goal."_

 _"Now you wish for us to babysit her?" Thorin remarked._

 _"Not unless you wish for a marriage upon your arrival to Erebor?" she rounded._

 _"You are awfully sure that there would be one?" he parried._

 _"The High Elves have the occasional gift of foresight, some more than others. And some visions are not as true as others'. Some can be altered and moved to another path. This happens to be one of those, you could say."_

 _"So this is instinct?" Thorin guessed._

 _"I suppose so," she surrendered._

 _"Very well. I will send Dwalin to extend the invite. Unless you believe she will become enraptured by his fashionable baldness?"_

 _"Unless you are liable to become jealous of such a Dwarf maiden for having the bald one's attention?"_

 _"You are incorrigible," he growled._

 _"I am Shadow, your Highness," she replied cheekily and with a curtsy, leaving the Dwarves and Hobbit to find their way back._

* * *

 **There is the chapter! Please leave a review and check out the music. :) It is a good one!**

 **Let's shoot for 100! Haha I will respond to reviews tomorrow.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello, my loves! I apologize for the somewhat late update. This weekend was... let's just call it a roller coaster. Hopefully, I can keep up better now. :)**

 **Thanks to those who reviewed, as always, they completely brighten my day!**

 **Unfortunately, there is some other news to share with you all, but I will save that for the bottom AN... which you all should definitely, for sure, without a doubt, read.**

 **Anyway! On to the story!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing that is related in any way, shape, or form to Tolkien's beautiful universe. I own Arathell and Kara, and that would be it. :)**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Can't Take It - Imogen Heap

"Oh, empty my heart  
I've got to make room for this feeling  
It's so much bigger than me"

 _ **T.A. May 8, 2941 - Imladris**_

 _The next morning, she found Kara's bedchamber empty and walked outside in search for her until she found her daughter. Unsurprisingly, she was surrounded by the other Dwarves, eating the morning meal with a volume unparalleled to any that had been made in Imladris before. She met Thorin's eyes and he smirked as he witnessed the mortification she felt. The seating arrangement, she noticed, was very similar to what it had been the evening before. She still sat beside Kili and they were talking jovially. Instead of Bifur on her other side, it was Dwalin who was conversing with Balin sitting across from him. Bofur and Bifur sat next to Balin while Bilbo was sitting beside Kili and was talking to the blond Dwarf across from him. So perhaps it wasn't all that similar aside from whom Kara was seated next to. Arathell glared at Thorin and walked to stand beside him._

 _"Can you see where she sits?" she whispered lowly._

 _"It disturbs me as it does you," he muttered back. "I will watch more carefully from now on."_

 _"Mother!" Kara yelled, making Arathell turn her back to stare disbelievingly at her child._

 _"So I am to be summoned by yelling now when you sit only yards away from me?" she demanded. "I will not have it so, Kara."_

 _"I didn't mean anything by it!" Kara exclaimed, standing from her seat and running to her happily. "I was only overjoyed to see you. You will never believe the news I have received." Arathell tilted her head to the side, remaining quiet. "Master Dwalin has presented me with a contract that Master Balin has written. They wish to bring me along with them on their quest!"_

 _Arathell smiled now and touched her daughter's shoulder. "I do not doubt that you signed it upon receiving it." Kara nodded proudly. "And your question as to what their quest is has finally been answered?" she asked carefully._

 _"They wish to reclaim Erebor, Mother," Kara whispered, as if no one in Imladris had known it at that point. "They wish to slay the Dragon, Smaug, and bring their people to their home. It is rather poetic, isn't it, Mother?"_

 _"It is also rather dangerous," she warned._

 _"The world is dangerous," Kara dismissed. "I have finally found where I belong! Can you not be happy that your daughter is happy?"_

 _"I will always be happy if you are also happy, child," Arathell agreed._

 _"We will protect her, my lady," a Dwarf mentioned and Arathell knew instantly which one it was. "The Company already likes her a great deal and we will not see any harm fall upon her."_

 _She looked to Kili and scrutinized him more carefully than she had the previous night. "What do you fight with, Master Kili?" she drawled, making no effort to be terribly polite to the man._

 _Kili blushed. "I prefer fighting with my bow, my lady," he answered._

 _"It is a similarity we share, Mother. Isn't it wonderful? Another archer," Kara proclaimed, now suddenly seeming to be more dignified in Kili's presence._

 _Arathell stared at him. "Can you not fight with a blade? Arrows mean nothing if your aim is not true enough. Even then, quarters for them are not always so lengthy."_

 _Kara glared at her, but she ignored it, staring firmly at Kili. "I do have a sword, and I am capable of using it properly. But my aim is often perfect, and arrows can still be used even without the complementing bow."_

 _"Show me," Arathell demanded._

 _Kili looked shocked and swallowed uncomfortably. "Now, my lady?" he whispered. "We have just started breakfast."_

 _Arathell shook her head and blinked calmly. "You spoke of your ability to protect my daughter should she need protecting," she stated gently. "You cannot expect to utter words with profundity like that without having suitable proof to back your claim. I would see your skills with archery and then I will determine if you are truly capable of protecting Lady Kara."_

 _Kara still did not seem pleased with her mother and reached to hold Kili's arm. "I will shoot with you, Kili," she encouraged. "You will have to forgive my mother. She is often demanding and crass with new people. It is how she measures the quality of others."_

 _The Dwarf did not look particularly affronted and bowed to Arathell calmly. "If my lady will permit to retrieve my bow from my chamber?"_

 _"I will walk with you," Kara offered._

 _"No you will not," Arathell snapped. "You will use a bow from the shooting fields. Master Kili can surely remember where his room is. He may meet us at the shooting range." Kili swallowed and nodded, flashing a bright smile to Kara and bowed to the two of them before walking back into the home._

 _Kara huffed angrily and marched in direction of the range, leaving her mother to catch up. Arathell was not bothered by the tantrum and looked at Thorin, who had most definitely heard every word that was spoken in the exchange. "You don't yell at me for speaking to your kin in such a way?" she remarked, staring interestedly at the King._

 _Thorin actually smirked and walked to her side. "No, I don't," he replied as they made their way to the range together. "Kili, even lacking a beard, has attracted attention from women since he became of age. But he has never truly listened to my chastising about his bachelor life. He seems to truly fear you though and the power that accompanies the name Shadow. Any berating you give him about his forward attentions, I will not admonish, for he deserves it." He scoffed once they arrived at the range. "Hopefully, I will be able to mimic it on our journey if they are so determined to be together throughout. I see where your concern is, and I do not like it either, regardless of whatever Balin says. Nothing will happen between the two of them, Shadow."_

 _Arathell grinned, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the King. "You are permitted to call me Arathell, you know," she teased with a grin. "It is less fearsome."_

 _"Does it mean anything in your language?" he asked, taking a seat and watching Kara string an arrow to a bow and practice._

 _"Noble Sister," she replied casually. "And my surname means Beautifully Dark Sister. It would seem that I am doomed to be known as the younger sister to Arwen Undómiel for the rest of my days."_

 _"You live in her shadow then," he supposed. "Is that where you adopted the alias?"_

 _"No, I adopted that when I became a recluse amongst my own people. I would not speak with anyone for fifty years upon an argument I had had with my family when I was young. Whenever someone would glimpse me in my quarters, they would say they saw the shadow. Now it has different connotations, being one who lingers in the shadows and who kills without ever being seen. It is an uncatchable name, suggesting I am never defeated in my goals," she replied honestly._

 _"Have you ever been defeated?" he questioned._

 _She met his gaze calmly and did not stumble over her answer, "No."_

 _Kili then emerged from the house with his bow and arrows. He walked with determination, staring firmly at the targets in the distance. But she could tell by the grip on his bow that he was indeed nervous. He clearly wanted to prove himself to her, which was admirable. It showed that he wanted to be taken seriously about his claim which had not been something she had seen earlier with him. Before, he had seemed to only be playful and carefree._

 _"My lady, at which target would you have me shoot at?" he asked politely, stringing an arrow to his bow. Kara joined him and waited for her mother's answer._

 _Arathell cocked her head to the side. "Tell me how many targets you see firstly," she ordered. "Hold your tongue, Kara," she added. Kili turned around, looking at the targets. She knew that there were seven in the distance and some of them would be difficult for any but Elf eyes to detect._

 _"I see six, my lady," he finally supplied, and she was impressed by the number. The first time she had taken Kara out to the range, the Dwarf had only seen four. But Kili had spotted six, one of those surely out of the range of his measly bow._

 _Arathell nodded. "My lord, Thorin?" she asked, turning to him._

 _"I am not here to shoot," he growled in retort. She continued to stare at him defiantly until he looked away and refused to give her a number._

 _She looked back at Kili and the corner of her mouth twitched. "There are seven in total." Kili's face fell and Kara began to speak to tell him why he could not see the other but Arathell interrupted. "I want you to aim at the closest one and then shoot to the next furthest and so on."_

 _Kili nodded, still looking rather determined. He spotted the first one and took his stance which was really quite good. He paused before shooting and looked back at her. "If I am to prove my abilities to protect your daughter, I would ask that you show me how well you have protected her in the past." The others drew breath instantly, and Arathell was shocked by his forwardness. "I would strive to be as watchful as your person, my lady."_

 _Arathell could not help but feel anger but she refrained from showing it. Easily, she stood from her bench and went to grab her Finelleth from the wall of bows. "Prince Kili may go first," she offered._

 _The Prince nodded and returned to look at the target. His stance was near perfect when he released the arrow. She searched for the first target, not showing any emotion when it hit the very center of the painted circles. Arathell did not wait to perfect her stance, grabbing her arrow and letting it loose almost as soon as it was set. It cleaved Kili's arrow in half._

 _Kili did not utter a word as he drew for the next target. He did not wait so long for this particular one and again, the arrow hit the dead center. Arathell could practically feel pride emulating from his uncle behind her as she shot her second arrow._

 _Again and again and again she released her arrows, all cleaving his arrows in half. When they reached the final target of where she was positive his arrow could not reach, she watched Kili with a smug grin. "You look as though you know something that I do not, my lady," Kili mentioned, squinting in the distance. How he was even able to see it was impressive enough to her, for it was well hidden and at a distance where typically only Elven eyes would see. She remained silent as she watched him. Kili took a deep breath and released his arrow. She watched as it sailed through the air and hit the outer circle of the target. Her mouth opened in amazement for a moment, but she closed it quickly. That should not have been possible. When she looked back at the Dwarf he looked belittled and ashamed._

 _Without pause, she drew another arrow and let it fly, hitting its mark perfectly. Kili looked even more downtrodden than before. "Kara," she called, her daughter standing from the seat next to Thorin looking just as impressed with Kili's aim, if not more so. "I have deprived you of your practice. Show His Highness your skill," she said, gesturing to the shooting range._

 _Kara frowned at her mother but loosed five arrows in quick succession, each of them hitting the center of their targets. Then, she stopped and turned to stand beside Kili. Kili looked at her and gestured back to the final target. "Will you not shoot the last?" he asked._

 _Kara growled and Arathell watched in amusement. "I cannot see the sixth target. I have never been able to see the sixth target," she answered darkly._

 _Kili seemed appalled and looked at Arathell with wonder. "How can you see the sixth?" she asked, walking around him._

 _"I have practiced archery for thirty years, my lady. My eyes are trained."_

 _"Kara has practiced for twenty," Arathell told him. "I am impressed by your skill. With the bow you have, I would not expect it to be able to reach such a distance." She nodded, unable to deny the Prince praise. "I can now say that I believe your words about being able to protect my daughter. I am sure that the rest of your kin are wondering where you have gone. I beg you all return to your breakfast."_

 _Arathell let them all go and ignored the looks given to her by both her daughter and Thorin. Kili seemed trustworthy and being a descendent of Durin, there was a promise in the blood that meant solely goodwill. Already, she had witnessed the attraction Kara had for the dark prince; even she found him nice to look at, despite his size. She supposed that Kara felt even more drawn to him, for he was tall for a Dwarf and he already seemed to dote on her. If love was unavoidable, Arathell could commend Kara for her choice, for he seemed admirable and loyal, yet fierce and protective. She would support the match, but she was not about to push the two of them together. She would wait to be confronted with the force and then she would deal with it._

 _With the decision set, she left the archery range, finding Lindir in the hall by her father's study. He greeted her kindly. "My lady, I would ask how long these Dwarves intend to stay," he said quickly after pleasantries._

 _Arathell sighed and looked at the Elf. "They will stay for however long they will stay," she answered. "Though I suspect they will depart soon," she added, remembering the closeness of Durin's Day of which Thorin was fretful. "Why do you ask such a question?"_

 _Lindir huffed and escorted her to the storeroom, where their supplies in greens seemed unaffected there were several empty barrels of wine. "Were you planning on getting intoxicated, mellon nin?" she asked lightly._

 _Her friend sighed and pointed to just how many had already been emptied in one night. "We cannot keep serving them this!"_

 _"Again, I ask whether you planned on drinking such a quantity yourself?" she reiterated. "Lord Elrond, my brothers, and myself have never been exclusive wine drinkers. We can drink other things and let the Dwarves drink the rest if that is their intent." She smiled and rested her hand on Lindir's shoulder. "I assure you, Lindir, there will be another shipment of wine soon enough." He nodded in agreement finally and they began making their way back to her father. "How are you, Lindir?"_

 _"My lady?"_

 _"It is a simple question," she answered. "I simply wish to know how you are faring. Or am I being too bold for you, my lord?" she finished with a flare of fury. Lindir stayed quiet and she let out a laugh. "Do you remember a time, Lindir, when we were friends? I remember when you were my personal advisor and we spoke of all things possible. Now, you look at me and all you see is a mistake that happened far in the past."_

 _"The remnants of that mistake are still very much alive, Arathell," he spoke in a murmur, leading her to a more secluded place outdoors. They wound their way through the gardens and sat on a bench where they were not likely to be seen by prying eyes. She had remained silent after that last retort, feeling as though she had been slapped._

 _She blinked hard and stared ahead to the trees and other plants. She reached and plucked a fresh apple from a branch and bit into it. "Those remnants are not your concern," she said darkly._

 _He scoffed. "What will your husband say when he finds you are not a true maiden?" he retorted but he was still quiet._

 _She glared at him and took another bite. "I do not have a husband. I have no prospects for one either, or do you know this already?"_

 _"What about Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm? Would he not make a worthy match?" he asked with a hint more of politeness that made her growl._

 _Arathell threw the apple to the side, watching it roll further and further from her. "Worthy?" she demanded, not meeting his gaze. "You think that that arrogant boy of an Elf would make a suitable match? Does my tainted womanhood correlate to the Prince finding that he is now worthy of me? Or do you mean that there is no one other than his lowly self that I will be worthy enough to be married to? Who is worthy of who?" She scoffed and finally looked to him. "I have hated him since I heard of his birth, and you know this. I have not bothered to hide my dislike since first meeting him. If you think that my affections for him have changed over the years, you are sorely mistaken. I would never marry one who would call himself a King of Elves. I have no King and I will never have a King."_

 _She didn't wait for his reply, only walking back inside and finding her brothers in their study. "Why do you look so cross, Duvainith?" Elrohir asked upon seeing up, sounding worried. Elladan merely stared at her as she walked to take a seat in the cushioned chair by the window._

 _"Dark have been my thoughts of late," she answered vaguely, staring at the green leaves._

 _Elrohir did not take her subtle warning to not inquire further but instead marched to stand in front of her, blocking her view of the outside world. "And what are these thoughts, Arathell?"_

 _Arathell met the nervous gaze of her brother but did nothing further to reveal her true emotions. "Kara has made it clear to me that she wishes to live with these Dwarves," she finally answered, hoping perhaps that that would suffice. But upon reflection of her words, she realized just how upset she could be regarding the departure of her daughter. She would miss her terribly. "I had finally felt as if I had a true purpose in this world, Brothers," she murmured truthfully. "Raising that girl could be perhaps the only thing in my life that I have not done selfishly."_

 _Elladan smiled from his desk. "Estel may need a mother sometime in the future. Gilraen the Fair is aging and Father had predicted she will leave Rivendell soon," he suggested._

 _Arathell frowned at the thought. "He and I have not taken to one another in such a way. Estel seems to be a rather independent soul without the desire to be hindered by anyone, even by those who would attempt to help him. I have not properly seen him in weeks, Elladan, and this knowledge alone shows to me that he could never look at me as his mother or even as his caregiver."_

 _"Do you think that he will be a good leader then?" Elrohir pondered aloud. "If he is so independent, this may come as ill news for any subordinates he has in the future. A leader must be able to listen to the advice of others and not dismiss them so easily. And you, Sister, are wise beyond your years, and to dismiss your advice and wisdom would be a crime indeed."_

 _She stared at her brother furiously. "And why should we wonder about his abilities as a leader?" she rounded in a tight tone. "He is merely Man being raised by Elves; there is no more to his story than that," she finished with a nod. "That is his story."_

* * *

 **So, there it is! I hope you all liked it! Please, leave a review! And check out the song. Some of you may recognize it from a movie.. :)**

 **Now, I will be brief here, at the cost of possibly being screamed at, but here it goes. It has reached my ears that there is a community in this category that is... not so nice. I won't say anymore regarding that. HOWEVER. There is another user, The Enchanted Stream, who has written a short little story, entitled "Do It For Frodo." I think that it is profound little piece, and I think that her message is quite sound. Essentially, it is all about not bullying within this fandom. If you all could perhaps go to that story, and leave a review for her, giving some support in her endeavors, that would be AMAZING. She has been put through the ringer lately, and it would cheer her up, I'm sure. If you want more clarification about it, feel free to message me PRIVATELY. I'm not saying that to be conniving; I'm saying it because I think that anything regarding the opinions of other users/authors should not be brandished on a public forum, regardless of the fondness of opinion. (Can you tell I'm under fire here?) We should not humiliate other authors in that way, hence me refraining from using any names or community titles... I will leave you to your deductions. But I would be super happy if you gave some support to Enchanted Stream, even if it means simply leaving a review saying #DoItForFrodo.**

 **That is all I will say about that here. Thanks a bunch everyone, and don't forget to leave a lovely review for me on your way out! We are over halfway to 100! And that's when someone gets a surprise! So, the faster we get there, the faster the surprise comes! (I hope you guys like it - other readers of my other stories love it. :))**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey, guys! I hope you all have had a wonderful week!**

 **Thanks to those who reviewed, as always, I greatly appreciate your comments, and I get super excited whenever I get a notification that I have a new email from fanfiction. We are over 60! Yay! That much closer to the hundredth reviewer...**

 **Also, I noticed that some of my wonderful followers went and reviewed the story that I mentioned last chapter, so THANK YOU for that. Definitely means a lot. :) I have also been made aware that there is a forum under the same name somewhere on this site, so if you are extra passionate and are looking to do more... that would be where you would find like-minded people, I suppose. I have not been on it, but I'm sure that it's lovely.**

 **ANYWAY. Moving on through the story now - I apologize: we have some movie dialogue coming up, so brace yourselves. I tried to make it original and not have Arathell just hanging out with the big dogs or anything like that. On the plus side, this chapter is longer than most of my other ones, so consider that your reward for the dialogue. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own Arathell and Kara... and Daeroch and Mara. That's it.**

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Part Two - But It's Complicated

Photograph - Nickelback

"Every memory of looking out the back door  
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor  
It's hard to say it, time to say it  
Goodbye, goodbye."

 _ **T.A. May 15, 2941 - Imladris**_

 _Arathell watched Kara over the two weeks, taking moments for herself to prepare her daughter as much as she could for whatever dangers Kara was about to face. The Dwarves had been confused about the amount of affection she had for her foster child, but they did not intrude on their lessening moments. Every moment came after longer gaps as Kara began spending more time with the Company than her._

 _She stared on with intrigue as Dwalin practiced sparring with Kara, smiling proudly when Kara disarmed him quicker this time and with more thought behind her attacks. Many warriors were said to fight based on their instinct, and while there was much to be said about muscle memory, Arathell had always found it more beneficial to think about every move. If there was a way to remove the opponent quicker by planning, then it would save strength for future confrontations. Her daughter had finally seemed to master the balance of planning and instinct and it made Arathell grin._

 _Though the majority all seemed to be taken with Kara, she noticed quickly that there were others who did not share such enthusiasm. She doubted that it was so much because of where she had grown up, but because she was a woman. Dori, for instance had griped about nothing other than her unfortunate lack of strength due to her sex. He claimed strongly that a woman should not be present for the deeds of war and should not be taken along. Glóin on the other hand, objected because she was too young and feared that she was likely to become frightened and then only become a liability for their Company. And Nori was, fortunately, the only one who blamed who raised her as a reason to leave her._

 _Kara strived to combat these allegations with displays of her nimble strength and speed to Dori. He never seemed convinced. So then she would tell the others long and extravagant stories of the fights she had gone through already in her life to ease Glóin's nerves, but that didn't seem to help either. She fiercely defended her home and her foster family, but Nori would only stare blankly, not listening. Kara learned through experience about the stubbornness Dwarves truly possessed, a trait she had only read about in books and heard tales about from her mother._

 _But it seemed that whenever she was downtrodden about the lack of faith members provided, there was always another member who was capable of bringing her spirits up. Arathell would watch with a grimace as Kili would present Kara with a smile or give her a cause to laugh with humorous words. Over the week, he had taught her how to see the sixth target, something that Arathell was incapable of doing, as she herself had never been a devout archer, despite many years of practice. Furthermore, Kara was able to see it and shoot at it with very good accuracy._

 _"My lady?" She would have jumped if she had truly closed her mind off to her surroundings and not felt the Dwarf's presence. The sparring had long been finished, and Arathell grunted in reply, staring as Kili stole Kara from Ori to dance with him as Bofur joyfully sang. "He does not mean her any harm; I assure you."_

 _Arathell glimpsed at her company, seeing that it was the elder brother of the dark Prince. "She has never before been in the presence of Dwarves such as those in your company, Fili. It is my concern that Kara will allow herself to be swept away into the arms of a stranger and be convinced that he loves her as she loves him. In spite of my warnings, she is a sensitive soul with a heart made for bliss and love. It is my deepest wish that she lives her life to do everything and not be tethered to any one thing. I want her to know who she is before she gives away a person she may not truly be to one who will not have her any other way. The girl you see now is not who I have known in my time raising her. And I cannot help but wonder which personality is her real one is or if she is someone else entirely. Your brother has seen one side of her and has grown to care for it, but I would hope he is able to care for all sides, even the ones that are less pleasant and the ones that he has not encountered yet."_

 _Fili laughed beside her. "Then you really do look at her as your daughter, don't you?" he remarked. Arathell stayed silent. "You have valid points, Lady Shadow. It is important to know oneself before endeavoring for love. But it has been the experience of others who have said that is it by loving that they discover their true selves. It is a circle, you see. And perhaps she is both persons you have seen. She is the studious woman who wishes to know everything there is to know while also being the playful woman who enjoys the company of her people. Both of these qualities are admirable, to be sure, and I would not be disheartened if she were only one or the other."_

 _"Your words do not solve the problem of Kara not living her life unhindered, Master Dwarf," she replied, staring as Kili placed a kiss on the back of Kara's hand and passed her to Bifur for a dance. Kara's cheeks were positively glowing and her eyes had stuck to Kili's retreating back for a moment too long in Arathell's opinion._

 _Fili sighed beside her and when Arathell finally turned to meet his eyes, he seemed like he was pondering the proper retort to her words. "What if loving is living?" he finally asked. He didn't stay at her side, instead running to join the throng of the celebrations, taking Kara for a dance roughly but still making her giggle merrily._

* * *

 _ **T.A. May 21, 2941 - Imladris**_

 _Arathell cried silently as she embraced Kara. Her daughter was dressed in breeches and a warm tunic with a dark red cloak wrapped around her shoulders – the color of the people who had raised her. Her bow, Egros, the Thorn Rain, was strapped to her back along with her quiver. Her dagger, Halhigil, had long been one of her favorites, and abiding by the name, was tucked under her tunic._

 _"Are you sure you have all that you will need? You carry the lembas I gave you?" Arathell asked as she pulled away._

 _Kara nodded. "It is all in my pack, Mother," she replied, the tears stronger in her green eyes. "I could stay, if you wanted me to."_

 _She laughed mirthlessly and knelt down in front of her. "Child, I promise you that I will always want you to stay where I can always look upon your beautiful face. But I promise you further that I will always try to put your needs above my own. My need for you to stay does not compare to your need to be with your people and experience life. I want you to be happy. If that means you are to be happy away from Imladris, then I will have to fight my tears with smiles for you are happy."_

 _Kara sniffled and hugged her tightly. "I wish you would not call me that," she teased._

 _"You call me Mother though I did not birth you," Arathell answered in kind, recalling the long-lasting game Kara had invented years ago._

 _"I have always looked at you as my mother and could not see you any other way," Kara argued dutifully, leaving Arathell smiling with sadness._

 _"And I have always looked at you as my child and could not see you any other way, my Kara," Arathell told her, kissing her temple and releasing her. "Before you leave, there is one more thing that I would give you." Kara looked at her expectantly. "Your mother gave you the name Kara, but I wish to give you an additional name. It is tradition. Mothers know their daughters better than anyone and can see their hearts with more clarity than any other. And though I did not birth you, I do know you better than anyone." Kara's eyes were wide as she heard the words, knowing the passion behind the tradition. "I, Lady Arathell Duvainith, of the Hidden Valley of Imladris, daughter of Celebrían, granddaughter of Galadriel, name you, my daughter, Kara Calengwen – The Green Maiden. For your green eyes were the first thing I grew to love, my daughter." Kara embraced her tightly, weeping quietly. "Do you like it?" she asked softly. "I would hate for you to dislike it as I dislike mine."_

 _"No, Mother, it is a beautiful name, and I will treasure it always," Kara said proudly._

 _Arathell nodded with relief. "It is spelt with a 'c', child. It is meant to show that there will forever be a home amongst the Elves if you choose to come back to them. It is meant to show that while you are undoubtedly Dwarf with your given name, you are Elven as well, regardless of your blood."_

 _Kara nodded eagerly, wiping at her tears. "You don't like the name Duvainith?" she suddenly wondered in disbelief, staring with confusion._

 _"That is not important now. Our time grows thin, child," Arathell dismissed. "My last advice that I can impart to you is to be wary of that Kili. He stares at you for far too long, in my opinion."_

 _"What if I have no objection to this?" Kara rounded, a twinkle in her green eyes._

 _"You should have objection to it!" Arathell snapped. "The minds of lesser men can easily be corrupted by the beauty of a woman, and not all corruptions are sweet and harmless."_

 _Kara smiled widely at her, tightening the straps on her pack. "I suppose it is swell then that his mind is not of the lesser category," she retorted, a knock suddenly at her door._

 _Arathell swallowed with anguish as she opened it, finding Fili and Kili on the other side waiting. "Are you ready?" Kili asked happily._

 _Kara nodded excitedly and with a final smile and embrace for her foster mother, she left the room, out of her mother's reach. Arathell's arm snapped out to latch onto the young Prince, pulling him inside for a moment. Fili led Kara away to the rest of the company, giving her a knowing look, as if he already had assumed that she would act out in such a way. "If any harm befalls my daughter, I will hold you responsible," she growled. "You look at her as a treasure from the earth, but I would remind you that she is not to be treated as an object but with respect. She has never been so far from home and will need patience if she stumbles." Kili nodded obviously, as if he had already thought of these things. "Are you in love with my daughter?" she demanded, hurrying her speech along._

 _Kili stared at her with shock for a moment, as if he could not believe either the bluntness or the insinuation of the question. "We are merely friends, my lady," he stuttered._

 _"Do not lie to me," she growled, grabbing the Dwarf's collar and pushing him against the wood of the door. "I will be able to see if you lie."_

 _"I do not lie!" he wheezed through her grip as her knuckles graded into his throat. He did nothing to fight her. "I swear to you!"_

 _Arathell stared into his brown eyes, searching without letting up on his collar. But regardless of how hard she looked, there was no hint of a lie there, even with the power of her gift to use as an advantage. She released him then, Kili rubbing his neck to ease the pain from her grip while panting with surprise. His honesty either meant that he was really that friendly with all Dwarf maidens... or it meant that he did not see his real feelings. "I am trusting you with the greatest thing I have. You cannot imagine for a moment how valuable that trust is. Do not ask me to break it. Leave," she dismissed, walking out of room without him and marching outdoors toward her father's meeting place._

 _She walked outside to see Gandalf and Elrond walking toward the outdoors where she knew that Mithrandir would have a merry surprise. She followed stealthily, but did nothing to openly hide her presence. Her father had expected her, and she would hear whatever the Council had to say. Gandalf had seemed troubled upon arrival those two weeks ago and she would know his worries._

 _"I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels that he is answerable to anyone," Gandalf claimed. "Nor for that matter am I," he added as an afterthought._

 _"It is not us you must answer to," her father told him, acknowledging her presence long enough for her to stand on the other side of Mithrandir._

 _She shook her head in agreement. "I have already given my daughter to this cause; I do not believe I could give more to it," she sighed quietly, knowing whose ear was just around the blasted corner. Elrond had already been in the knowing of the Dwarves' escape plan, and he had even sanctioned it, knowing the debate before them would look to stop it._

 _Arathell then gestured to the being clad in grey ahead of her, looking to the dawn's morning light. She watched with a smirk as Gandalf walked ahead, looking surprised. "Lady Galadriel," he breathed._

 _"Mithrandir," her grandmother purred in the low tone she reserved for special occasions. Arathell rolled her eyes but walked ahead to stand next to her kin. Despite once disliking the presence of this relation, Arathell had later learned that she did truly care for her grandmother, and even liked her more than she had once thought. In fact now, she would even venture to say that she loved Galadriel as she had professed to love Celeborn, her grandfather. And being in the presence of the Lady of Light soothed her nerves about her daughter's departure and gave her courage. For beside her was a mother who had also watched her daughter quit her home. It was a comfort, to say the least, if not slightly small. "It has been a long time," Galadriel continued in Sindarin without looking at her._

 _Arathell glanced at the leech standing in the shadows, the bastard taking too much pleasure in ruining Mithrandir's joyful mood. "Age may have changed me," Gandalf began with a bow that made her smile. "But not the Lady of Lórien." She glanced at her grandmother, seeing her smile grandly at the kind words and could not help but feel pride in her lineage at that moment. Galadriel's proud blood pumped through her own being and it made her shiver when she thought of it. "I had no idea Lord Elrond had sent for you," he finished in Common Speech._

 _"He didn't," Arathell growled, looking at the figure in white, still lurking._

 _"I did," Saruman said proudly and she saw the look on Mithrandir's face fall as he accepted the new challenge of convincing the Istar._

 _Gandalf bowed lightly to the other Wizard and she could barely hold back her sneer._

"Hold back your animosity, Arathell," _her grandmother's voice whispered in her mind._ "You must wear your mask with convincing surety." _Arathell nodded to herself and focused on being calmer in Saruman's presence._

 _"You've been busy of late, my friend," Saruman said politely but she could clearly see through the shroud of kindness he wore. There was something more potent about him now than before. There was a secret dwelling in his eyes and even with the power of her gift she could not see the secret's message, only the walls that guarded it and the occasional flame that flew up behind it. The high rank of the Maiar beings would forever ban her from seeing the perfectly clear thought she craved. Nevertheless, she focused fiercely as he took his seat at the head of the table. He even sent her a haughty stare to show his prowess and position over this Council. She held her head high in contempt, making it clear to him that she would still be looking down at him from her standing vantage point. She caught Galadriel grin._

 _Gandalf took the other head, trying to rein in some of that stolen power while she and her kin preferred to stand and preside, subtly showing their own form of power. Gandalf had he hands to his head, as if in prayer when Saruman interrupted, "Tell me, Gandalf," he started, the grey Wizard giving his attention to the white lord. "Did you think these plans and schemes of yours would go unnoticed?"  
_

 _"Unnoticed?" Mithrandir questioned gently, as if the thought appalled him, making her smile softly at his underhand for control. "No! I-I-I'm simply doing what I feel to be right."_

 _"The Dragon has long been on your mind," Galadriel purred, turning away from the glimmer of the rising sun to the Council._

 _"It is true, my lady," Mithrandir agreed with a nod. "Smaug owes allegiance to no one. But if he should side with the Enemy, a Dragon could be used to terrible effect."_

 _"What enemy?" Saruman asked coyly. "Gandalf the Enemy is defeated. Sauron is vanquished. He can never regain his full strength."_

 _Gandalf stared ahead at the Wizard for a moment. "Does it not worry that the last of the Dwarf rings should simply vanish, along with its bearer? Of the seven Dwarf rings, four have been consumed by Dragons; two were taken by Sauron before he fell in Mordor. The fate of the last Dwarf rings remains unknown," he finished with a flourish of his hands. She knew that Gandalf was well aware of what had happened with that ring, but she knew that he was saying the things he was out of courtesy. If Saruman thought for a moment that Thráin was not yet dead and that his ring had yet to be attained, it would stall him. It would not help much, but the gesture counted for something in her mind, at least. "The ring that was worn by Thráin," he finished._

 _Saruman interrupted calmly, "Without the ruling Ring of Power, the seven are of no value to the Enemy." She cast a glance at Gandalf and knew without her gift that Saruman's words angered him. "To control the seven rings, he needs… the One." She noticed his voice hesitate and caress the word, and the looks she traded with her kin indicated that they were just as observant. "And that Ring was lost long, long ago."_

 _Arathell arched an eyebrow. "And yet here we are speaking of it as if it were to appear out of the shadows at this precise moment," she called. "You lock yourself away in your dark tower and have not seen the_ _darkness that looms out on the roads of Middle Earth. It is a darkness that is growing, and whether it regains all of its former strength or even a tenth of its former strength, we should not turn a blind eye, Lord Saruman," she finished stiffly._

 _"Gandalf," her father said softly from behind the White Wizard, "Four hundred years we have been at peace: a hard-won, Watchful Peace."_

 _"Are we? Are we at peace?" Gandalf interrupted. "Trolls have come down from the mountains. They are raiding villages, destroying farms. Orcs attacked us on the road."_

 _"Hardly a prelude to war," her father said and while she did not believe in the Enemy's defeat, Gandalf's reasoning did not even fully convince her of the imminent threat._

 _"Always you must meddle," Saruman drawled, looking to demean Gandalf into submission. "Looking for trouble where none exists."_

 _"Let him speak," Galadriel commanded gently, but even Saruman relaxed in his seat._

 _"There is something at work beyond the evil of Smaug - something far more powerful. We can remain blind to it, but it will not be ignoring us. That I can promise you. A sickness lies upon the Greenwood. The woodsmen who live there now call it Mirkwood and they say –" He stumbled on his words for a moment, considering whether to continue._

 _"Well?" Saruman mocked. "Don't stop now. Tell us what the woodsmen say."_

 _"They speak of a Necromancer living in Dol-Guldur," Gandalf surrendered and instantly she recoiled, staring out at the sky to the East. Her grandmother turned to look at the Wizard while her father stiffened in his stance. "A sorcerer who can summon the dead."_

 _"That's absurd," Saruman replied, finally sounding serious about the discussion. "No such party exists in this world. This Necromancer is nothing more than a mortal man – a conjurer dabbling in Black Magic," he excused._

 _"And so I thought too," Mithrandir dismissed. "But Radagast has seen –"_

 _"Radagast?" Saruman sputtered. "Do not speak to me of Radagast the Brown. He is a foolish fellow."_

 _"Well, he's odd, I grant you. He lives a solitary life."_

 _"It's not that," Saruman excused. "It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms. They've addled his brain and yellowed his teeth. I've warned him. It is unbefitting to one of the Istari wandering the woods –"_

 _"Is it befitting then that the Istari speak so lowly of one of their own?" she retorted calmly. "Radagast may be odd in his lifestyle, but he is a wise Wizard and provides us a great service by keeping a peaceful foothold in the East. You should not speak so harshly of him until you reflect upon yourself and your own misgivings."  
_

 _"You have yet to learn respect I see," he drawled, looking at Elrond when he did nothing to silence her. "Have you given up trying to teach it to her? Pity," he continued._

 _"I only respect those who have earned it," she snapped and then turned her attention to the parcel that was laid out on the table and all air in her lungs seemed to collectively freeze._

 _It was wrapped in such a way that there was no denying what it was. But the air surrounding her suddenly felt stiffer and it became even harder to breathe. The world's colors dampened to greys in her eyes and there was a darkness that grasped her heart, making her gasp in pain and clutch at the long white scar that still marred her chest._

 _"What is that?" Elrond said lowly and she was sure that he felt it just as strongly, if not stronger than she had, despite her actual injury._

 _"A relic of Mordor," Galadriel gasped, her hands held outward slightly to protect herself from its evil. Her father's hand stayed from touching it for a moment before he gathered his courage and undid the wrappings, making Arathell gasp once more when she saw it. This was a weapon that was familiar not only to her mind, but to her body, she thought, touching the scar._

 _"A Morgul blade," her father spoke in low tones._

 _"Made for the Witch-King of Angmar," Galadriel spat, staring down at the object. "And buried with him," she added, sounding nervous. "When Angmar fell, the Men of North took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it in the High Fells of Rhúdaur. Deep within the rock, they buried him, in a tomb so dark; it would never come to light." She shuddered._

 _"This is not possible," her father breathed. "A powerful spell lies on those tombs. They cannot be opened," he proclaimed, as if saying so would make his words truthful._

 _"What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?" Saruman demanded._

 _"The scar on my breast recognizes its creator," Arathell whispered, still breathing hard. "Put it away, Mithrandir. I will not look upon it anymore." Gandalf did as she bade and the world slowly righted itself, though not without leaving a cloud of fear in her mind._

 _"I have nothing other than Lady Arathell's words."_

 _"Because there is nothing! I will not believe that scratches can recognize the weapons that made them. It is folly and fear that grips her heart." She opened her mouth to yell at the Wizard, but he continued without looking at her once. "Let us examine what we know," Saruman commented calmly. "A single Orc pack is dead across the Bruinen. A dagger from a bygone age has been found. And a human sorcerer who calls himself the Necromancer has taken up residence in a ruined fortress. It's not so very much, after all."_

 _"Spells can mask fortified fortresses with ruined ones," she disagreed. "We have long known of the trouble that Dol-Guldur has presented and we have combatted it often enough to know that it has never truly been a ruin. There has always been a resident there and to hear that there is now a Necromancer there only gives me cause to worry. If you are determined to ignore this potential danger, then I will ignore your cries for help when it finds you. Since you deem ignorance to be the better course," she grounded out._

 _"The question of this Dwarfish company troubles me deeply. I'm not convinced, Gandalf. I do not feel I can condone such a quest." Saruman didn't even bother to spare her a glance._

 _"Thankfully, that is not for you to decide, my lord," Arathell interrupted once more._

 _"Dwarves are stubborn creatures," Elrond added and she could see the faint sparkle of mischief in his eye as he played with Saruman. "If they are determined to reclaim Erebor, it is my belief that they will indeed be able to accomplish this feat, regardless the odds. They will leave when they have made ready."_

 _"And when will that be?" Saruman demanded. "I would try to talk sense into their stubborn heads," he ordered._

 _At that moment, Lindir walked in on their council, ending it abruptly. "My lord, Elrond, Lady Arathell," he began, looking only at her father. "It is the Dwarves. They are gone."_

 _Arathell grinned at his timing and looked at Lord Saruman smugly. "It would seem that the House of Durin does not want your supposed sense, my lord."_

* * *

 **There it is! I hope you like it. As I was reading through, I did notice that there is a LOT of dialogue, and I apologize. I know that it seems like an excuse just to have Arathell be a part, but remember that she is a non-official member of the Council, and she wouldn't be the kind to be left out of it anyway. So she had to be there.**

 **Oh, and Halhigil means "Hidden Dagger" in case anyone needed clarification. And let me know if the mother name confuses you! This is a real thing amidst the Elven culture and it is not explained in the movies. So, if you would like me to take the time to do so, I would be more than happy to. :)**

 **Check out the music and leave a review!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey, everyone! Hope everyone is doing great! I personally have been absolutely SWAMPED with homework. Three tests in one week along with two three-hour-long labs... ugh, it's been awful. So, if you think that I am a little tardy with the posting of this chapter, that would be why. Along that note, I know I said previously that I would be updating once a week, but I am going to fiddle with that statement just a little bit and say instead that I will be updating once every 5-10 days. School comes first... unfortunately. So, you all will have to be a little flexible. I'm sure that won't be a problem though!**

 **Thanks to those who reviewed that last chapter! Everyone was so excited to see Kara go off on her own adventure; it was great! Unfortunately... this story revolves solely around Arathell... meaning that none of Kara's adventures are going to be super included in THIS story. I am thinking of doing another story sometime in the future that is a spin-off of this one, and we delve more into Kara and her time with the Dwarves. I think it would be fun. It just didn't fit in with BDS. So, I apologize. THIS DOES NOT MEAN THAT KARA IS OUT OF THE STORY. She will continue to make appearances throughout, so don't be forgetting her. :) This chapter is a bit of a time jump - right to the end of the Hobbit movies so... keep that in mind while you read. Message or review me if you are confused!**

 **Sorry for the long note - just thought that I would get that out there now.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with the works of Tolkien or the screenplay directed by Peter Jackson. I only own Arathell and Kara... and Daeroch and Mara. :)**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

"Well, I've been afraid of changing  
'Cause I've built my life around you  
But time makes you bolder  
Even children get older  
And I'm getting older too  
Oh, I'm getting older too"

 _ **T.A. November 3, 2941 - Mirkwood**_

 _When her father had returned from the fortress of Dol-Guldur, she could see the fear in his eyes. "It is Sauron," he said. "He has returned. Your grandmother is weak. Mithrandir saved the Mountain. The quest is finished."_

 _Her heart raced at such a thought of Sauron returning. It made her fearful for what was to come in her future, and to know that what had happened at the fortress had exhausted her grandmother to such a state was not comforting. Her grandmother had been known to be one of the most powerful assets they had – what did that mean for the rest of them? How could they compare to such a monster if her own grandmother was incapable?_

 _But when she heard news of Smaug being slain, there was a bubble of relief that swelled inside of her stomach, easing an ache that that been twisted inside of her for months. When she heard then that Kara was still alive and happy, Arathell wept. Even the news of Sauron's return could not blemish such a relief. But her tears were halted when she heard of the deaths that the company had encountered. It tore at her in a way she didn't expect when she heard of Thorin's fate. He was so determined to rule his people and provide for them, and his death came as a great loss. There were even a few tears that she had shed for him._

 _The news of a betrothal soon reached her ears after this, and her fists clenched when she learned of the parties. Her daughter was naturally one of them, and true to her suspicions, it had been Prince Kili who had vied for her hand._

 _Arathell took the less hazardous paths on her way to her daughter, but even she could not escape the trails of Mirkwood. There was an ever-present growl in her throat, warning away any evil-doers and a gleam in her eyes that was trained to look feral and wild. She had heard that Sauron had fled from the fortress after his encounter with her kin, and given that it was so soon after the Battle of the Five Armies, she would venture to say that she was relatively safe – at least for the moment._

 _Prince Legolas had never excelled at heeding her warnings, so when he and a band of Wood-Elves emerged at a distance along the path, she snarled. "Let me pass," she yelled to them, as they were still a mile away from her, but she could see them fine, even in the shroud of Mirkwood's glaze._

 _The Elf walked up to her and she waited, refusing to meet him halfway, even if she needed to walk that way anyway. When he saddled up to her, he looked proud and smug. Daeroch had been taken by her brothers at the entrance, vowing to meet her at Erebor for the wedding. Neither of them had wanted to go through the woods, despite there being Elves present. And Daeroch didn't seem to want to go through the forest anyway. This was not important, but the fact that Legolas now used his height against her infuriated her. "Have you come to visit me, mellon?" he purred into her ear, only now dismounting from his animal._

 _She harshly shoved him away from her and drew her sword. "I am not your friend," she told him._

 _Legolas didn't seem terribly bothered by her words. He nodded and then stalked in circles around her. "For once, my lady, it would seem that I have the advantage here. My men linger everywhere and would not be disturbed to kill you now if it is what I command."_

 _She raised her eyebrows at him. "You intend to not only kill one of your kind, but Lady Shadow, Princeling?" she mocked, and she heard the earth shift as the Elves hidden in the trees heard her name. "If you ever seek to move up to something higher than merely a Prince of Mirkwood, you would be wise to tell your men to stand down. Courtship with one of the House of Elrond would not be granted if his youngest daughter lay dead at your feet."_

 _"You wish my courtship then?" he remarked, waving his hand. The Elves came out of their hiding places. She didn't blink once._

 _"I wish my daughter's company," Arathell answered coolly. "She is residing in Erebor presently and is waiting for her mother to bless her upcoming marriage to the Prince Under the Mountain."_

 _Legolas laughed and stared at her. "Is she of Dwarf-kind?" he drawled._

 _"Not that it is any matter of yours, but indeed she is. Now, if you let me pass –"_

 _"And Elf of Rivendell adopts a Dwarf!" Legolas exclaimed, earning a laugh from his men. She sneered and whipped her hand around to slap his face hard. He stumbled back and she felt a dozen arrows pointed at her for her display of violence._

 _Legolas gripped his jaw with a look of pain. "You have always loved slapping me," he relayed, still nonchalant and unbothered. Seeing him so carelessly take her slap was even more frustrating to her, and she felt her hands clench into tight fists as she glared up at him._

 _"You still cannot learn to not insult my family," she retorted smugly. "She is a Dwarf, but she is my daughter, and unlike your people, I do not look on the outside of things. I see them for what they are and I see the love in her heart far clearer than I see yours. Her race is not important to me, as it should not be important to any one of the Elves."_

 _"Eru has claimed that it is in our nature to hate them," he bantered._

 _"And is that our purpose?" she snapped. "Is our purpose to hate things that we share enemies with? For if it is, then I hate you." Legolas stayed quiet, as did his men. "My daughter has written to me regarding the lack of hospitality Mirkwood and its Elves bestow. But seeing as that did not hinder them from reaching their goal, this is a forgivable offense. But if I am treated in such a way, you can be sure that my uproar will be loud indeed." She bowed low to the prince with a wicked grin, taking their grumbled silence as their hesitant agreement. Now, she would torment. "My lord, I do beg you let me feast at your table tonight. I shall have the finest room of course and be sung the merriest tunes and be greeted with the most marvelous company. Lead on." She gestured to path ahead of them and while Legolas grunted, he led anyway._

 _Arathell noticed how his troops were surrounding her but did nothing to push them away._

 _When they arrived, she stared with displeasure at the size of the home. She knew that it reached down into the depths of the earth, but it was nothing compared to her home. Crisp air, like apples sheltered Imladris like a cocoon, yet here she felt embraced too tightly by trees that withered and shook with fear. The air was humid here, thick and ready to swallow her whole._

 _She was brought before the King, a being she had never particularly cared for, and she reluctantly bowed, but only a little. "Prince Legolas tells me your name, my dear," he murmured in a low melodic way His voice was his power, but he would have to learn that she had many voices in her mind, and his was the least influential. "There is quite the legend behind it even in our land."_

 _"Is it because of the distance between our homelands that this is surprising, or do you attempt to flatter with words that even the mighty Elves of Mirkwood revere the name Shadow? My name is heard in all corners of Middle Earth and your kind is not as mighty a people as mine. Your words do not flatter, but annoy," she drawled with smugness and a threat buried in her brown orbs – daring him to question her._

 _Thranduil laughed and stood, touching his crown delicately. "I am a King, my lady."_

 _"You are a King of a lesser Elf than mine. Lord Elrond is tenfold wiser than you and has power beyond your wildest dreams. You could only hope to be as mighty a ruler as my father… as me."_

 _"You are arrogant, my dear," he stated, but it was clear that he was trying to withhold his anger. She could see a flame of blue darting in and out of his eyes, like a wolf waiting for just the right moment to seize its prey._

 _"And yet I am not the one who wears a crown," she bit back smoothly. "The Elves of Imladris and Lothlórien are not so pompous in their power that they assume a crown. This is for lesser beings to assume and exploit. I do not need a crown to know that I am better than you, Your Majesty."_

 _"We have met before, have we not?" he drawled._

 _"I believe so," she agreed. "It was many years ago when you first endeavored to rid Middle Earth of Dragons. But I provided you the alias of Shadow then. And my brother remained quiet."_

 _"So you were sent to spy?"_

 _"I was sent to learn."_

* * *

 _ **T.A. November 10, 2941 - Erebor**_

 _When Arathell finally did arrive at Erebor, she smiled with pleasure at the masses of Dwarves that were already cleaning their home. The stench of Dragon was still present, but with each passing moment, it became less staunch and her senses adapted._

 _The Dwarves stared at her with surprise, some with contempt. She walked on, going to the gates of the fortress and bowing low to the guards. "My lords, my name is –"_

 _"Lady Shadow!" a loud cry exclaimed and there was soon a very familiar Dwarf standing in front of her. His brown eyes were alight with joy and excitement, and he clapped his hands. "Oh, I could not be more pleased to see that you have made it! Kara was beginning to worry, my lady, and she is outright refusing to let me comfort on the matter."_

 _"So I was right then?" she surmised and Kili began making his way through Erebor to find Kara's chambers. He certainly wasted no time, and she could not lie that she was unhappy with his speed to reunite her with her daughter. "You were in love with her."_

 _Kili shook his head. "I was not in love with her when we left Rivendell," he disputed. "Or maybe I was; I do not know. My feelings were foggy, but I realized later with the help of my brother that what I felt for her was stronger than any of bond of friendship and that I wanted more. Apparently, I was not alone in these hopes and we refuse to be parted." She looked at him curiously. He noticed it and shrugged. "Please tell me that you are willing to give us your blessing. I know that you and I both did not see each other clearly upon meeting or departure, but I sincerely hope that we may push such quarrels aside now and start fresh. We both love Kara and we both wish the best for her. I simply wish for her to be happy, and it is a miracle that she has deemed herself happy to be mine."_

 _Arathell quirked an eyebrow at him but finally gave him a nod. "I agree with you. If you have made my daughter as happy as she claims to be in her letters, then you will only receive my blessing from me. I personally believe that she has chosen well." Kili grinned madly at her and actually embraced her in a way that made her yelp in surprise. "How was your journey?" she grunted, pushing the Dwarf off of her person._

 _"There was a mishap of sorts in Mirkwood and we were separated. I had prayed that she would be alright, given her history with Elves, but they are not like your people, my lady," he told her sorrowfully. "They are crueler and made cages of steel to keep us. They would not give her gentler lodgings, despite her being a woman, and she was tossed into one of these cages as we were. She has sworn to hate King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm from now until her death, and I am convinced that that hatred will not break or lessen."_

 _"Hatred?" Arathell exclaimed, feeling the air grow stuffier as they delved deeper. It was beautiful, but it set her teeth on edge. "My daughter does not hate."_

 _Kili frowned and grabbed her arm as they approached a door. "She has seen many things, Lady Arathell. She never once faltered or showed fear on our journey, for it is not in her to do so, I believe. But she saw the destruction caused by some and the treachery committed by others. She has seen evil and it angers her more than anything to know that creatures like that exist. She has forever loved Elves and defended them all along our journey to Thorin." A dark look passed over his face. "But Thranduil crushed her vision of Elves and I think she is now confused as to how she could have grown up with creatures as beautiful and wonderful as you and then be demeaned by them in another realm. I can remember she shouted the name Calengwen often, as if it would spawn a more generous personality in them, but no such luck." Kili shook his head. "But she is still waiting for her mother, and I would like to surprise her with your presence."_

 _He knocked on the door then and she heard her daughter's sweet voice call out to come inside. Kili disappeared for a moment and Arathell could only reflect on how the Elves had really treated her daughter. Kara had obviously been refraining from telling her the entire story, and now Arathell wished she had done more than simply slap the Prince in Mirkwood. She could have killed him now the burning in her heart was this great._

 _"My lady!" Kili shouted, drawing her from her thoughts. Arathell wore her mask of aloofness as she walked over the threshold. Kara jumped from the bed with a squeal and ran to embrace her. The mask no longer truly became a mask as Arathell laughed with joy at feeling her daughter in her arms again._

 _"Mother!" she cried. "Mother, you have come! I was so worried you wouldn't!"_

 _Arathell chuckled and took her daughter's hands gently. "Child, it is the pleasurable duty of a mother to see her daughter wed. I believe you will make a fine match for each other." The two Dwarves beamed up at her, their faces nearly splitting in two at the sign of her support. "It is as I predicted in Imladris – you were already drawn to one another then."_ _  
_

 _"We say often that our souls simply knew that they were meant to be entwined, even upon meeting, they knew," Kara agreed with a giggle. Kili blushed as his betrothed conferred perhaps a more sentimental side to him, other than the warrior that Arathell had been meant to see._

 _"My lord, you need not act embarrassed," Arathell soothed, touching his scratchy cheek. "In my race, few are given gifts from the Valar, and I have such a blessing. It is called visual truth. I can see the inner-workings and qualities of any I look upon."_

 _"You cannot read thoughts, can you?" Kili chirped, now looking rather pale._

 _Arathell chuckled. "No." She stared fiercely at him however. "Should I be concerned about the thoughts you have regarding Lady Kara Calengwen, the green… maiden?"_

 _"No!" Kili exclaimed quickly, turning red once more._

 _Arathell looked over at her daughter who was giving her a look of false frustration. "Can he turn as green as your name as well?" she teased._

 _Kara's attitude suddenly changed, and she looked slightly apprehensive. "I wanted to speak with you about that, Mother. Kili, could you…?" Kili nodded and kissed her cheek tenderly, making Kara smile before leaving the room. Kara sat on her bed, a bed that was finally her proper size. "I was thinking about my name recently, Mother. I do love it very dearly and I clung to it in dark times, knowing that it would be something that could never be taken from me, even if other things could. But its translation – green maiden – well, I think that it is clear that after my wedding day, I will, well –" She cleared her throat, blushing. "I won't exactly be able to be truthful to that name."_

 _"You won't be a maiden," Arathell clarified, seeing her daughter turn almost violet. "I see. Well, names are capable of changing, you must understand, child. It is only the root that I would ask you keep, as that is the heart of my sentiment. There are many options of names you can adopt."_

 _"You wouldn't be sad if I changed it?" she whispered._

 _Arathell laughed and touched her daughter's face. "If I ever find a being for myself, I can assure you that my own name will change."_

 _"But Duvainith is so pretty, Mother! How could you not love it? And it is permanent, besides. You will always be Arwen's sister."_

 _She smiled sadly at her daughter. "I will always be looked at as Arwen's sister. It is good to carve out a name for oneself and I have done what I can with Shadow. I have morphed it to my benefit and have used it to such extents as well. But even that is only half of me and someday, maybe I can find someone to help me find my other name." She sighed. "Did you have a particular name in mind for yourself?"_

 _Kara smiled sheepishly and twisted her hands in her lap. "I have considered Calendis – green bride. And I have considered Calemes – green wife. And then there is the more straightforward Calendes – green woman. I was hoping for your help in choosing. It is to be announced at the ceremony itself once Kili and I are first presented as husband and wife."_

 _"Well, bride is a temporary name in itself, so I would not suggest such a name," Arathell pointed out._

 _"I don't think so," Kara disagreed. "The term bride somehow captures that love that the husband and wife had for one another at the moment of marrying. I will always be his bride as I will always be the one that he wishes to be with."_

 _"What about wife?" Arathell suggested._

 _"Well, I like that one because it has such finality about it. I will be a wife and there is no room for argument about it. And with my upbringing, there has been argument. Not that it bothers me so much, but it would be nice to pin my title to all of their heads for them to remember for all eternity."_

 _"And woman?"_

 _"Woman is nice because it keeps me feeling independent, as I have lived for so long. It allows me to keep my identity and be myself," Kara answered._

 _"I like woman," Arathell finally said._

 _Kara frowned. "While I do love what the name would confer, I do rather like the idea of being so permanently bonded to Kili with a name like bride or wife. Mother, I love him as I have never loved before, and I feel that without him I cannot breathe air properly. He makes me happy and keeps my insides warm, even when the air is cold. I think it would be an honor to the both of us if I were to bind myself to him in that way. It would show just how strongly I love him."_

 _"So then your decision is either bride or wife," Arathell concluded, feeling slightly sour at her daughter's relinquishing of her freedom._

 _"Yes," Kara agreed, determined. "If I am to become a Princess of Erebor and rule over the Dwarves, I should have a name of maturity. Bride seems loose and playful to me now. Wife speaks of not only my finality with my husband, but with my people. Yes, I believe I shall call myself Calemes. Do you like it, Mother?"_

 _Arathell smiled softly. "You will make a good ruler with a name like that."_

* * *

 **So, there it is! I hope you guys like it. Legolas had another appearance - yay! He obviously will continue to have more and more as the story progresses. A few of you have made comments about his character and how I have portrayed him. While being an Elf and being infinitely wise, he is kind of on a lower level compared to all of the other Elves in the series. A part of me attaches a child-like quality to him for that reason, and he is closest in age with Arathell, so he feels more comfortable exposing that... playful side. As stated many times, their... whatever it is... will continue to grow and mature... into something. ;)**

 **And yes, Kili and Fili are both alive in this story. Thorin dies, but the brothers are alive and well. Kara was meant for greatness, wasn't she? Sorry for all of you canon-peeps, but this is fanfiction. :)**

 **Check out the song and lets get to 70 REVIEWS! I know you can do it! I would love to hear from all of you!**

 **And I will try to respond to reviews by tomorrow - if I don't, I promise I will get around to them. It is almost midnight here and I have a test in eight hours and I need to sleep. Sorry.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey, guys! OH MY GOODNESS IF I COULD HUG YOU ALL, I WOULD! I got a whole SIX reviews for that last chapter, and it made me absolutely ecstatic! We are officially past 70, and now only 29 reviews away from 100... where the surprise lies in wait. :) I got to hear from some new people and I really hope that I continue to hear from you guys more as the story progresses. Each and every review is precious to me and I love hearing what ALL of you have to say. Of course, I want to also thank those who have followed and favorited the story as well. I appreciate it very much!**

 **I thoroughly apologize for not replying to reviews as studiously as I used to. I am going to try answering your responses the day that I update instead of postponing it because I only end up forgetting that I have not thanked you all properly.**

 **I also apologize that the wedding will not be included in this story. There is so much material that I would like to get through, and the wedding would have been an extra few chapters, I think, and I didn't want to encroach upon the greater story. I will however, try to insert some flashbacks as the story progresses so that you guys can get snapshots. And then... well, maybe the 100 review mark will satisfy that desire. Haha we will have to see!**

 **No movie dialogue in this chapter! Yay! But there is a lot of jumping around in time. We are getting closer to LotR!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything dealing with this world except Arathell and Kara and a few miscellaneous characters like Daeroch.**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Echo - Jason Walker

"I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name  
Like a fool at the top of my lungs  
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright  
But it's never enough"

 _ **T.A. 2951 – Imladris**_

 _"You have no doubt, already heard, my lady," a voice called to her within her room. She waited with bated breath, knowing the words already, but wishing so greatly that they were not true. "Sauron has returned to Mordor. We do not know how long he has already dwelt there, but he makes to rebuild Barad-dûr."_

 _She nodded and let her head fall into her hands. "It is as I feared. Has my sister been informed? She makes to journey home within the month."_

 _"All precautions have been taken to ensure safe travels, my lady." Arathell nodded again and dismissed Lindir. She felt him pause in the doorway for a moment, but she did not turn to look back._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2951 – Imladris**_

 _Lady Arathell Duvainith stared with partial contempt when she saw the familiar white pelt of her sister's horse. It was true, she had missed her sister a great deal since Arwen had gone to stay with their mother's kin, but in that time that Arwen had been away, Arathell had begun to be looked at as more than the little sister of the Evenstar. She had already been named Shadow and had become respected as the warrior that she was, but it seemed that that she could never begin to compare to her sister in anything. Being a warrior had only been a piece of herself and to see everything else so easily disregarded had caused grief in her soul, though she had stayed silent about her pain._

 _With Arwen away, there had been no other to look at beside her. People began noticing the other qualities she had, such as raising a Dwarf. But now it all meant nothing again._

 _A hand fell on her shoulder and she sighed under its warmth, taking his strength for her own. She reached to clasp the hand, knowing that there was one who would surely look no further than herself. "Your sister arrives," he noted, seeing the Elves smile in greeting to Lady Arwen._

 _"She does," Arathell agreed, turning from her window and looking into the grey eyes of Glorfindel. He had recently become part of her garrison though he had lived in Rivendell for as long as she could remember. He had been a worthy addition and ranked just as highly as her, making them partners in just about everything now. She had enjoyed his company greatly then and she still did now. No, she did not love him. At this point, she wondered if her heart was even capable of such an action. But Glorfindel had asked to court her upon her return from Erebor and she had not turned him away. He was a wise soul that could always share thoughts with her._

 _And while age was no longer of much import in her family, they had always looked at her with softer gazes and did not often share their own thoughts so fully. She was a warrior and had done things none of them knew, and yet they treated her like a child, Elladan always seeing her as a baby and Elrohir saw her as a child that needed protecting. Elrond had seen her as something to teach, and Arwen had often looked at her with misunderstanding. They had grown closer since their mother's leaving, but Arwen never claimed to understand the call of war, only the power to love._

 _Glorfindel had never seen her as anything other than a woman who deserved respect. He would listen with both ears when she spoke and would often converse about the most atrocious of things. It was a disturbing thought to know that his words of gore could make her admire him, but they did._

 _"Should you go and speak with her?" he asked, his blond head turning to look at her as she reclined on her bed, staring up at the arched ceilings._

 _"I will say I was sleeping when she inquires, Glorfindel," she answered tiredly. Perhaps her only complaint about the Elf was his excessive desire to talk. When she wanted to have a conversation, there was no one better to speak with, but when she craved the company of her own thoughts, he often intruded and filled the silence with pointless chatter._

 _"Estel should be on his way home as well, with your dear brothers," he continued and she frowned._

 _The boy and she had neither liked nor hated one another. He had remained away from her and they did not see each other often. As far as she knew, he had been trained extensively by both of her brothers, eager to ensure that he was able to protect himself against any foe. The three of them had ridden off some months ago for more experience training, not bothering to invite her. Her brothers seemed to sense that she and Estel were not close and he would most likely not take instruction from her. Likewise, she probably would not take incapability from him._

 _She finally grunted noncommittally, hoping that he would somehow understand her desire for there to be quiet in chamber. "He is on his way to becoming a good warrior, wouldn't you agree, my sweet?"_

 _Arathell scrunched her nose at the endearment. It had never sounded quite right, and she wasn't sure if she liked being demeaned to such a title. "I am sure he is, my lord. As happy as your presence makes me, I would say that my plan of being asleep when Arwen arrives will be impossible if I am here to have a conversation with you over Estel's fighting skills however, and I would much appreciate being alone at this time."_

* * *

 _Several days later, Arathell walked in the company of her brothers through the gardens. She enjoyed hearing of their tales and they had made her laugh when Elrohir spoke of Estel nearly falling off of his horse. He was to become Chief of the Dúnedain soon as they had told her – a great honor since they really had no proof that he was who he said he was._

 _Her laughter was cut short when she saw the familiar silvery raiment of her sister. Arwen walked towards them with a bright smile on her face. "I have just met Estel. Or rather, it would seem that he is called Aragorn now," she commented._

 _"And you smile so grandly because of him?" Elrohir teased._

 _"His presence is mighty," Arwen defended. "If he is to become a King of Men, then I believe that he will do well indeed. He has all of the bearing of one who knows how to rule."_

 _Arathell scoffed and folded her arms – an unfortunate trait she had picked up from the Dwarves that passed in and out of her life. "He is merely twenty years. He has not had enough life to acquire a true bearing, Sister."_

 _Arwen's lip twitched, hiding a small smile. "I imagine that there will come a day when he will be very handsome. He called out to me with Lúthien's name on his lips, and for once I felt as if I was Lúthien being looked upon by Beren the Mortal."_

 _"You both are descendants of each," Elrohir mentioned._

 _"Yes, we spoke of our blood being related long ago," Arwen agreed. "Arathell, how can you not think his face handsome? His eyes are like starlight!"_

 _Arathell merely stared at her sister. "He and I do not look upon one another often. Nay, I daresay that it has been over ten years since we have spoken properly. And ten years for the race of Men changes their appearance drastically. I am sure that he will not look so fair in two hundred years when he is old and grey."_

 _Her sister looked downtrodden at the words. "Well then his heart is fair, and that cannot change."_

 _"Everything can change. Some Elves can even change their mortality, a race that is most constant," she regarded with a nod. "Age changes everything, whether it is physical or mental, no one is truly steadfast. It is not possible. And to think such a thing would be highly moronic indeed, something that I truly had not perceived you to be, Sister." Her siblings were quiet for a moment, as if they were thinking of a way to dispute her words. "How long are you visiting?" Arathell finally broke the silence._

 _Arwen didn't meet her gaze and shook her head. "You have become even more proficient in causing people pain, Arathell. Do you never think that with your character, no one other than your kin could love you? You frighten away anyone who could ever look upon with anything resembling love. You… repel the emotion like you repel everything else in your life that you do not like. You speak with such hatred in your heart and you act as if the world is falling around us. Why can you not smile and make the most out of the time that is given to us? And then you proceed to wonder why people do not look at you in the way that you want them to, like how they look at the rest of our family. They admire_ us _. You bring it all upon yourself. And you act like such a child, throwing a fit that she does not get her way and get people to like her. You are a child, Arathell, and frankly, this was something that I did not miss in the slightest. Then again, I can't seem to remember a time when you were not this way." Arathell felt as though she had been struck and couldn't think of anything to say back to her. "I leave within the month. Your words and attitude will definitely not be missed, I can assure you."_

* * *

 _Somehow, Arathell had been abandoned by her family after the argument. The pain that she suddenly felt was very great within her and she nearly broke into tears. It was unexpected to be so affected by words like that, or any words for that matter. But it became evident to her that there was only handful of people in Middle Earth who could truly make her insides twist with pain: her kin. Her father and Celeborn had been towards the top of that short list, but it seemed that Arwen would need a place as well. Even with their differences, both emotionally and in how they were perceived, Arathell had never thought that Arwen would have said something like that to her before. They had been close once yet the attitude and coldness that her older sister presented was like a brick wall of indifference. Arwen had passively ignored Arathell and her hurt emotions at that point, and that only drove Arathell further away from her sister. Truly, she could not understand why her sister acted the way she did. Arathell only knew that it was something she could not bear to be around._

 _From then on, she separated herself from all of her family as she had done as a child, perhaps trying to remind Arwen of what a real child was like. Arathell had raised one and Arwen still thought that she was better than her. The Elves of Lothlórien, no doubt, doted on her upon her arrival and could only inflate her own image of herself._ _Hurt never lasted long with Arathell, and it was soon replaced by bitterness and stubbornness. She had been content for almost one hundred years without her sister, and she did not need Arwen in order to be satisfied._

 _Unlike her first separation, Arathell cleaved to her father's presence, knowing that he was perhaps the only one who could be forced to love her. It was a selfish act, begging for his love as she did, but she could not help herself. She felt lost in her mind and he was the only guidance she had. He would dote on her as always, but he did not press about her quietness whether because he agreed with her siblings or because he did not care, she did not know._

 _When the month was up, Arathell barely embraced her sister, watching her leave and feeling tears sting her eyes yet again. She was stubborn and would refuse to be outlasted, but she had hoped that she and her sister could have reconciled before she left._

 _One week later, Aragorn left Imladris too, by himself and looking to learn as much as he could from what the world could offer – off to go with the Dúnedain again. She was tempted to leave with him and he had even offered, perhaps noticing her frustration with the world. But in her depression, she had recoiled, claiming that she would not dare venture into the Wild with a Man she did not know. He had blinked and then walked away, the offer instantly retracted even if she did regret it._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2953 – Elrond's Council, Imladris**_

 _She had taken her seat next to Mithrandir at the table. Saruman tried to goad her from across the stone furniture, but she didn't look at him, focusing on her kin pacing. Regardless of her impeccable lineage and thousands of years in Middle Earth, she felt humbled at last. Arathell Duvainith, a legend herself, was the youngest born amongst the five present, and she had come to realize that her father truly had granted her anything and everything that she could want and to be a part of this Council was something unheard of for one so young. Or maybe her fury to be turned away outlasted her father's stubbornness once again. Perhaps the others' constant presence in her life had made her wiser, but when she was around them, she only felt small now, unlike how she did even ten and two years ago._

 _Arathell once asked her father why Glorfindel had never been included in the Council, but her father was quick to tell her that it was not for lack of invitation. The Elf was still highly involved in what occurred and would still hear of everything through Elrond later. He told her that it ensured that they still had secrets hidden from Saruman, and with this, she agreed in his reasoning._

 _"I bring news," Saruman started, and while she loathed the Wizard, she held the sarcastic remark behind her teeth. She looked away from her father and to the Wizard, waiting patiently. "It is my belief that the One has passed out of Middle Earth at last."_

 _Her kin froze in their stances and looked and him harder, but only Arathell could see physically see the lie that was simmering in his eyes, though her loved ones would not have taken the bait like this. "Oh?" she remarked, sitting up straighter. "What gives you cause to believe this?"_

 _Saruman did not meet her gaze, staring at Mithrandir coolly, but she saw the manipulation he tried to present to the younger Wizard. "It has gone down the Anduin. My men say that it rests hidden in the Sea. Surely, this will be a place where the Dark Lord will never find it."_

 _"Twelve years ago you claimed that the Dark Lord was vanquished," Galadriel purred, looking just as conniving and secretive as the Chief Istar. "And now it is your belief that he is actively searching for the Ring."_

 _"I did not say so, my lady," Saruman disagreed._

 _"Then what are you saying?" Mithrandir questioned, keeping his voice light and without a hint of malice. Arathell wanted to scoff; it was still very apparent that Gandalf did not believe that Saruman was capable of the treachery that Arathell and her family had suggested. It mattered not; the Wizard would learn in time what kind of creature Saruman truly was._

 _Saruman spluttered. It was not common for anyone other than herself to give him difficulty, and it had seemed that her two elders had taken the task as their own. "What I say is that should Sauron ever look to regain his power, not that he can, but if, he will not be able to find his deliverer."_

 _"Sauron was powerful and dangerous without the Ring," Elrond pointed out. "Whether he has the Ring or no, he is not to be taken lightly. As long as he lives, he is a danger to our world. Knowing that he will never have the Ring brings very little comfort to me, as we need this Ring to destroy him completely. And we know that he has retaken Mordor as his stronghold and is reconstructing Barad-dûr as we speak."_

 _"He poses no significant danger now," Saruman spat, earning a hard look from Elrond._

 _"Any danger is significant," Arathell murmured gently, controlling the fire running through her soul. "Any creature that falls to their demise at his hand is one less creature to preserve the peace we crave. It is guaranteed that any family that loses their kin will not be looking at this danger as not being significant. And grieving families can pose a threat all on their own."_

 _She felt Galadriel's hand on her shoulder. "You speak wisely."_

 _"If this is all the news that must be conferred, I believe that our time as a Council is done," Mithrandir commented, standing. He received looks of shock from all four. "If the Enemy will never recoup as Lord Saruman says, then according to his logic, this Council is no longer needed. According to Saruman, we are at peace now." His words escalated in fury. "Look to find me no more." With that, he left them and Arathell frowned, saddened._

 _"I do believe he is correct," Elrond finally claimed and while his words did not falter, Arathell could see how unsure he was. "I dismiss myself," he concluded, leaving them also._

 _Arathell met the gaze of Saruman who was still looking to bait her in argument. "My place is with my father," she said. "If this is his belief, then it shall be mine as well." Galadriel did not say anything, but she walked away from the table with her and it gave Arathell strength._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2954 – Imladris**_

 _"My lady Arathell?" She did not look at Glorfindel, already sensing the dark words. "Mount Doom burns once more."_

* * *

 **So, there it is! I don't want to call this a cliff-hanger, because hopefully we all know the story, but still.**

 **Sorry for the shorter length. I'm pretty sure that the next chapter will be longer. :)**

 **I know that Saruman has a discussion about the passing of the Ring down the Anduin in the first Hobbit movie during the Council scene, however it was not until later that he ACTUALLY told the others about his "reliable" information. Again, I am going by the Appendices for the time being, and this is when it was dictated that the Council legitimately disbanded the Ring was said to be in the Sea.**

 **Let's get to 80 reviews and don't forget to check out the music for this chapter! I would love to know what you think about the whole situation with Arwen and with Glorfindel. Both of them are going to strongly influence the plot for the rest of the story, so... I would love to hear what you have to say. If you have any complaints, get them to me now so I can go and make my alterations sooner. Otherwise, DO NOT WORRY. I have everything figured out. I promise. I know how the story goes. I'm actually currently writing from the RotK right now, so I know what I am doing. :) BUT I can make little changes if anything is just SO against what you want to see from this story. :)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey everyone! My goodness, 6 reviews! I cannot tell you thankful I am to hear from all of you chapter after chapter, and I have made some wonderful friends. :) Join in on the fun everyone! OH AND IF YOU WANT TO KNOW THE SURPRISE FOR WHAT HAPPENS AT 100 REVIEWS, READ THE BOTTOM AN! VERY IMPORTANT!**

 **I loved hearing everyone's feedback from last chapter. And I loved even more how different all of the opinions were. I'm invoking different things in different people and that is my goal. Some of you are totally Pro-Arwen and some are completely pro-Arathell. I think the only consensus was that there was a great deal of uneasiness when it came to the relationship that Glorfindel and Arathell had. I'll be interested to hear more of your views at the story continues.**

 **Again, Arathell's childishness... it is an interesting theme, and many of you caught on to that. And I think that many of you also are of the belief that she is not being entirely Elf-like and/or mother-like given her latest relationship with Kara. Arathell is this way on purpose; have no fear. We don't want any Mary-Sues here and it is fun watching characters develop... at least it is for me as a reader.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing except Arathell and Kara and a few miscellaneous characters.**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Conquistador - Thirty Seconds to Mars

"I am the, I am the best  
She claimed and more  
A battle scarred conquistador"

 _ **T.A. 2980 – Imladris**_

 _"The Rohirrim have a new King, I hear," Arathell commented upon removing the outer shells of her armor. The impending doom of whatever Sauron had in mind made her heart ache in an ever-present manner. Her mind felt weary, and it seemed that the powers of her gift had lessened as a veil of her own was draped over her eyes. Her ability to once look leagues away into the eyes of another and read their secrets was nonexistent. Now, her gift only worked when she was physically in front of a being._

 _But she wore her mask well. Not even her father could see the anguish that tormented her at being separated from that part of her._

 _"Yes, my sweet. King Thengel has unfortunately fallen. King Théoden has assumed the throne," Glorfindel replied, taking care to pet Daeroch affectionately._

 _She nodded and grabbed the reins, walking in the direction of the stables. "His son, Théodred, may be the only heir to the throne. He cannot fall, for we need Théoden King to remain strong in his rule. If Rohan falls, then Middle Earth will soon be after it."_

 _"Can you tell if he will be a good ruler?" he drawled and she paused, looking up at him._

 _"Your gift of foresight has always been stronger than my own," she mentioned. "Why do you ask this when you hold the more accurate answer?"_

 _"I ask because I would know how you think, Duvainith," he replied. She frowned at the title, preferring the wretched 'sweet' term over her true name. He had not spent much time with Arwen while she had been in Imladris, but he had spent enough to start comparing her to the prodigal sister._

 _Arathell grimaced and pushed her horse into his stable, giving him a bag of carrots to feast upon. "Will I be critiqued on my opinion, Glorfindel?" she finally asked, petting the horse's long nose. Her compatriot remained silent and waited for her answer. She sighed in surrender and closed her eyes, trying to stretch her mind out to the King. Her limits were pulled taut and she felt sweat pooling on her brow, but still she could not reach the King of Rohan. When she opened her eyes, Glorfindel gazed on at her, looking like he had known her secret all along. Hiding her frustration, she held her head high and looked into his grey eyes. "His soul is pure and wishes to do well. Unless there is an outside force to corrupt his future, I do believe that he will make a formidable King."_

 _Glorfindel nodded and didn't comment of her fatigue. "And what about Lord Aragorn? Would he make a good King of Gondor?"_

 _"I have long sensed unease in his heart. I do not know if the throne is what he truly wants. I do not even know if he aspires to lead the other Dúnedain, though he has been charged to do so." She heaved a breath of woodsy air. "The path of the King is cloaked from me and I dare not even hazard an instinct as to what he will eventually do. It is true that Middle Earth has long suffered in the absence of a King, but I cannot imagine the weight that he feels on his shoulders because of this. To feel the pressure to rally the world of all things good and destroy the evil once and for all is a heady task and I do not envy him for it." She flashed her suitor a sad smile. "Leave me now. I am weary and wish to sleep and rest my eyes."_

 _"Do not forget to rest your mind, Arathell," he cooed. His voice was soft but his eyes spoke a different story. It was a warning that he knew pieces of her pain and that if it got worse, he would surely tell her father. The thought frightened her, but she held onto her mask as her only real lifeline. The Elf did eventually leave her side, and she felt herself slowly relax._

 _Glorfindel had become too close to her. She would separate herself from him from now on._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 2984 – Training Grounds, Imladris**_

 _Arathell watched him train in front of her. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, but the light armor she wore showed immediately that she was not the customary Lady of the Elves. He was sparring with Glorfindel currently, his movements like fluid and his eyes shining with a fire she recognized well enough._

 _Aragorn had become a very formidable opponent, and she was thankful that she would never have to fight someone with his skill. The Man simply did not know the meaning of defense, never even letting the opponent get in an attack. And while Glorfindel was thousands of years older than him, even he had to bow to the power that Aragorn had when his sword fell away from his hand, and this was after nearly half of an hour of sparring._

 _She smirked, having analyzed her prey and stood from her bench. Glorfindel gave her a smile, as if already trying to break her into the possibility that this Man was undefeatable. Arathell didn't bother meeting his gaze, staying focused on the ring._

 _"My lady," Aragorn greeted with a polite bow of his head._

 _She laughed and held her sword out to him. "Would you disarm one you would call 'my lady?'" she retorted. Aragorn smiled softly and held out his own sword. "What does Ristor mean, my lord?" she mocked, gesturing to the weapon in her hand._

 _Again, he smiled. "It means the Ripper, my lady," he answered dutifully._

 _She nodded and began stretching her long legs, walking in circles with him and his own lengthy limbs. "Let us hope it does not rip you too badly," she concluded before initiating the battle. She could feel numerous eyes on her as she twirled. She had always fought lower to the ground, forcing her opponent to bend at an awkward angle to properly gauge her actions. She had learned early on in her training that if a warrior was out of his comfort zone, he would fall more easily._

 _Indeed, Aragorn had to hunch in a way that did not look like he was in control. Still, he defended her attack without a thought, pushing her sword harshly to the side and leaving her open for his to pierce her. She ducked down more and rolled, catching his foot with her own and dragging him to ground. She stood quickly, only to have her sword completely kicked from her hand. Arathell felt bones in her wrist shatter at the rough kick, but she withheld the yelp of pain._

 _Kicking his own legs out, he landed on his feet and moved to stand in the way of her sword. She grunted with annoyance and attacked again, rapidly coming within his space with a well-timed duck to avoid his blade. She ended up pressed against his front so that his sword arm couldn't properly reach her. She grabbed the offending hand by the wrist twisting it until she heard a faint pop. Like her, he didn't exclaim in pain, knowing that she had only been exacting her revenge for him causing her the same pain._

 _While he was disoriented, she easily manipulated his sword from his hand, spinning out to get a better angle of her final attack. When she met his eyes again, she only found that he grasped her fallen sword in his left hand, just like she grasped his in her left. They gave each other smug smiles. "I believe it is you who needs to worry about being ripped, lady," he drawled, not sounding at all out of breath._

 _But she knew the balance of her weapon better than he did. With a cry, she launched herself at him again, him defending every attack and eventually putting her on the defense. She felt her blade tear at the skin of her cheek, and any instructor would have stopped the duel by now, but everyone was too enraptured by the fluidity of their motions. They were both experienced enough to not cause mortal harm, only enough to show the other their place._

 _He continued pushing with the sword until she ducked again and jutted her leg out to kick him hard in chest. He gasped, but she did not give him respite, reengaging her attack on him. Their swords met close to the ground where he was trying to take out the offending legs. She smirked in knowing, twirling his sword in a way that caused her sword to fall from his fingers onto the dirt. He did not call for surrender._

 _She bent over and picked her sword up, changing hands. Her right wrist was broken and would hold the blade she was less familiar with._

 _Arathell spun to come down with the final blow – the swords like great metal wings that floated fallen leaves up and off of the ground. She felt another kick at her right hand, dropping his weapon and she could not withhold the scream as the already shattered bones clicked against each other in disapproval, but she fought on regardless. He grabbed her injured arm, hugging her close to his side while pushing the tip of his sword into the side of her neck with his uninjured hand. She looked down at her weapon, poised to plunge into the open side of his chest and rip right through him._

 _"It seems we must call it a draw," she groaned under the firm pressure of his fingers on her wrist. With a twist that caused excruciating pain, she clasped his own broken wrist and squeezed, hearing him roar and feeling his little bones floating around under her touch. It brought pleasure to her to hear him so weak, a Man undefeated._

 _"It seems," he agreed, releasing her quite suddenly and sheathing his weapon awkwardly with his broken wrist. She sheathed her own and gave him a wide smile, feeling better than she had felt in decades. Fighting had always brought a sense of peace to her, especially when it was a fight that she would win._

 _The audience cheered with excitement at the sight of their two greatest fighters not even able to win against the other. Any enemy would not stand a moment with the two of them present, they whispered._

 _"You will want to treat your wrist," he commented with a gesture to her broken appendage that was rapidly turning the color of a rich violet._

 _She nodded towards his. "Do not claim that you broke mine more than I broke yours. Or we may have to restart our duel, my lord," she warned playfully._

 _Glorfindel approached her then, clapping and smiling widely. He touched her wounded cheek, wiping at the red blood that dripped from the scratch. "I do not believe that it will even scar," he said happily._

 _Arathell scoffed and pushed his hand away. "What a pity. Lord Aragorn will try harder next time," she declared, looking strongly at the lord in question. He grinned with play and went his own way, most likely to train more, even with his broken wrist. She would have done so too, but Glorfindel's hands were already leading her from the ring where her vigor was to wait until her return._

 _"You were absolutely stunning, Duvainith," he praised and she tried to smile, still rather hating the name. If anything, with every passing day, she found that she disliked it more and more, feeling an ache of inadequacy whenever it was yelled to her. She did not have a name of her own: her name was the sister and that was all she would ever be known as, even when her sister would leave Middle Earth, her namesake would linger. It was not a way that Arathell wished to live, but until she married, she could not hope to be granted a different name. And she did not have the heart to tell her father that she hated the name anyway. It was easier to live in pain than to cause another's sorrow, she had learned. And she had already caused so much sorrow in her family's lives. They did not deserve to hear more about her petty troubles – not on the brink of way with the greatest tyrant of Middle Earth._

 _Her wrist was wrapped properly and she was given a drink of athelas with water to rid the pain, which she would not have complained about so heavily if Aragorn had not kicked it twice._

 _As she tested the wounded appendage, she saw her brothers stride past the healing rooms with stern looks and she frowned, knowing the signs well enough to realize that there was news that she had yet to hear._

 _Arathell entered the chambers of her father with a sigh, having heard that there was news that was abroad. "Father?" she started, folding her broken wrist behind her back, clasping it gently with the other. "I saw my brothers walk towards your chambers. I would hear what news they bring you." She glanced around the room, finding neither brother waiting to be welcomed. "Where have they gone?"_

 _Elrond turned from his balcony and granted her a tiny smile. "My daughter, they have left as soon as they have arrived. It would seem that Ecthelion has fallen. His son, Lord Denethor is now the Steward of Gondor."_

 _"And they leave so quickly? Why? What is it about the new Steward that has them looking so concerned? Is he not a Man of honor?" she rounded._

 _Her father released a breath and walked to her, clasping her shoulder. "They are troubled with the possibility that Denethor is too headstrong about his position. They worry that there will come a day when he will not be able to accept that he no longer runs the White City. Should Aragorn ascend to the throne, Denethor is likely to fight him, and Middle Earth does not need a man of stubbornness running it. With Denethor in command, there is talk of Mordor taking the kingdom, and then for sure the rest of the world will fall with it."_

 _Arathell grimaced at the news. "And Aragorn does not crave the crown, leaving this child to destroy the last beacon of hope for the world," she concluded. "We must convince Aragorn to do what he was born to. It is the only way to stop the evil that is already in motion."_

 _"He does not listen to council that I give, Arathell. You know this," her father mentioned, wearied._

 _Arathell looked down, thinking about all of the causes that could create the effect she desired. "Arwen holds his attention greater than most. It is even my belief that they are in love. If she could confront him on this matter –" she continued, sounding surer of herself._

 _"The Lady Arwen already has, my lady," another voice proclaimed from behind her. She swiveled and met the gaze of the heir himself. "I met with her in Lothlórien four years ago and we spoke of my potential ascension."_

 _She felt her face fall, the look in his eyes already conferring how Aragorn reacted to how that discussion. "Your decision has not changed then?" she supposed. "You would leave Gondor's future to a selfish boy of a Steward? You would allow the world to fall because you cannot accept the responsibility you have been given?"_

 _"The world will not fall!" he retorted, reminding her of a great wolf, marking territory with a wild fire in his grey eyes. "I will not allow it," he added when the fire died down._

 _But she would not allow even the Heir of Gondor respite in words when she would not allow him it in training. "How then will you save this doomed world from ruin when you have garnered no people to follow you in your desire? How will you rouse up common folk to take up arms when you appear as common as them?"_

 _He met her stare calmly. "You are not the only one to have adopted a reputation, Shadow," he uttered, making her step back, like she had been struck._

 _"I have heard of your titles, Strider," she remarked with a territorial growl. "But people cannot lead by giving their people fear. Fear is temporary."_

 _"And yet here we are thousands of years after the disappearance of Sauron, being threatened by his host once more. It would seem that fear has endured rather long in his case."_

 _"Are you Sauron's apprentice then?" she snapped._

 _"No," he stated with finality. "You are right when you say that fear is an improper way to lead. But you are wrong when you assume that it is how I would lead. The places that I have been and the people I have assisted do not look upon me with fear. And my people would follow me wherever I commanded them to."_

 _Arathell shook her head with a scoff. "If you look to have your favors repaid, do not think that a King and Steward will grant you armies. And your people, regardless of the skill they all possess, their numbers are too few. Your race is passing into legend more and more each day, and soon enough I am sure that people will think that you all have perished! There is no other way, Aragorn! For all of the wisdom that the Elves have given you, I am reminded of just how impotent Men truly are. With this arsenal of knowledge, you would disregard it and go about the way of destruction and ruin." She scoffed once more and began to take her leave, turning to give him one last look. "Such is the path of Men." He glared at her, that fire returning with a vengeance and he walked after her, ready to defend his race. She only held up her bandaged wrist with a stern countenance. "I have sparred with you enough for today."_

 _"You cannot say words like this without being able to accept the consequences, Arathell," he growled in a low voice. She looked over his shoulder at her father who stared at her with a face that was bemused._

 _Frowning, she returned to look at the man. "Are you trying to instill fear in me, my lord?" she drawled._

 _He snapped back and huffed, quitting the room with the long strides that he was famous for. Her shoulders heaved in relief that she would not need to fight with him anymore, as any fight with words would only incite her to a fight of physicality. She loved fighting with her arms, but fighting with her words was more tiring. Perhaps she was becoming more like Man, reacting first and then thinking later. It was a bad habit to fall into, but her thoughts were always too dark in these times and any occasion she would have to step away from them, she was grateful. Unfortunately, her argument with Aragorn had not been one of those blessed times._

* * *

 **So, that is the chapter! Any more thoughts on Arwen? Glorfindel? I apologize if he in particular seems out of character. Know that I definitely deem him to be a pretty phenomenal character, and I would have loved to see him depicted in the movies. Furthermore, with the fight between him and Aragorn, I'd like to think that this would just be one of those situations where Aragorn won that round, but Glorfindel is still just as likely to win against Aragorn.**

 **And yay! Aragorn actually came into the story! Getting closer and closer to LotR!**

 **AND! So, the 100th reviewer challenge. I do this with all of my stories, and people seem to enjoy it. Whoever is the 100th reviewer for this story get a one-shot dedicated to them. They get to come up with an idea they want me to write, ANYTHING as long as it is within this fandom and is not anything sexual. But I will write it for you and dedicate it to you and everything. It is a lot of fun! But the only catch is that this reviewer has to have an account. I have to be able to PM them about what they are looking for. Other than that I am excited to see what you guys come up with!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello, my lovelies! Thank you so much for the kind words that you dropped off for the last chapter! I believe we had another six wonderful people leave a review and they made me so happy! Let's try to get to 90! As I'm sure you remember, whoever is the 100th reviewer gets a one-shot dedicated to them and it will be about anything they would like to read about, whether it is related to this story or not. Just no M ratings, and it has to stay within this fandom. I also would not like to write anything slash... nothing against that, it's just not what I deem in my ability to write well. More details are written at the end AN for chapter 18, if you're interested, or you can send me a PM. :)**

 **Everyone loved the duel scene, so it is with great happiness that I give you another. Or rather, a segment of one. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and Kara and a few miscellaneous characters every now and then. :)**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Never Let Me Go - Florence + The Machine

"Looking up from underneath  
Fractured moonlight on the sea  
Reflections still look the same to me  
As before I went under"

 _ **T.A. 3001 – Training Grounds, Imladris**_

 _Arathell laughed joyfully when he lay disarmed at her feet, her sword pushing against the throbbing artery of his neck. "I believe that is the second time I have bested you, my lord. Age must be settling into you, for you are an old man now," she teased._

 _"Seventy is not old," he griped, pushing the tip of her sword away and getting to his feet. "And do remember that I beat you before you beat me."_

 _"But now I hold the lead of our little game, Aragorn," she said kindly, sheathing her sword and smirking at him with pride._

 _"How many draws does that make it however?" another voice remarked as Glorfindel came to the ring._

 _"We have approximately one hundred, I daresay," Aragorn answered with a groan as he pushed his dislocated shoulder back into place against a tree._

 _"One hundred and three, yes," Arathell corrected with a wicked gleam._

 _"If you had not injured my shoulder, we would most likely have another draw on our hands."_

 _"Most likely, yes, but I am always determined to win against you and if I find myself a way, be sure that I will take that way," she added with a smug grin._

 _He nodded. "Likewise, Arathell," he relayed with a smile of his own._

 _Glorfindel shook his head in disappointment. "You should not aim to injure one another, especially you, my lord, Aragorn. Hurting a lady is not wise and is rather impious. It is not befitting of our gender."_

 _Arathell rolled her eyes and brushed a piece of hair away from her sweating forehead. This particular duel had lasted for over a half an hour and she actually felt slightly fatigued. "It is not impious to injure a warrior, my dear Glorfindel. It is in the nature of the duel itself to win and I do not begrudge his lordship for endeavoring to best me in any way he is able. I execute the same endeavors and would much prefer to call myself his equal in sparring before I would be babied by propriety and softness."_

 _The fight that she had had with Aragorn years ago seemed like a foggy memory to her now – to them both, quite honestly. She could not remember apologizing, and she even believed that she never did. And she knew for certain that he never apologized to her for his crass words. But it had seemed that one morning, they had forgotten about their argument, and it was as if it had never happened at all. They had trained, and that had been the first time he had won in their dueling contests. She beat him a week later._

 _And it had been a birth of a wonderful friendship. They did not speak heavily of dark matters anymore, but she had learned about him without her gift; she could understand him well enough to know when he needed quiet and when he needed a friend. And he had spent fifty years learning her expressions well enough to know when she needed either of those things as well._

 _Aragorn gave her a grin of acknowledgment and was about to answer when a horse thundered up to their training session. The animal breathed hard and sweat made it shine. A tall figure clad in grey dismounted and she sighed, greeting the Wizard. "Mithrandir, were we due to expect you?" she asked._

 _"I have need of Aragorn," he said brusquely. "His ability to track exceeds that of my own and I would exploit this."_

 _They all looked to the Man who looked bewildered by the talk. "What is it you are trying to track?" he began slowly._

 _Gandalf cast a harsher glance than was necessary to Glorfindel who now was the one to look astounded by the dismissal. "Come. All of you. There are things to discuss." He didn't wait for the three of them to follow, already walking up to the house to Elrond's chambers. Aragorn followed quickly and Arathell tried to show sympathy for the other Elf._

 _"I know you wished to have an outing this afternoon. I'm sorry," she murmured to him gently. He sighed and Arathell allowed him a kiss to her cheek before they walked to the house. They found the other three of them waiting for them in her father's quarters._

 _"I believe I have found it," Gandalf began and what little joy was left from her victory over Aragorn was demolished entirely. "I believe it rests in the Shire, with a Baggins, no less."_

 _"What?" she whispered, thinking of the little Hobbit who had journeyed through the borders of her own city. "Bilbo had the Ring? How could we not have sensed this?"_

 _Mithrandir shook his head. "Bilbo discovered it after our first departure. There were some Goblin tunnels in the Misty Mountains. I have gathered that Bilbo stole it from a creature called Gollum. Bilbo claims that it he won the trinket, but I got down to the bottom of it soon enough. Gollum was originally of a similar make to Hobbits, but he is nothing like the race now. There is no true telling as to how long the Ring was in his possession and what it has done to his mind. From what I understand, Gollum has left the Mountains in search of the Ring. I need to learn more about it from him, meaning that I need to find him first." His gaze turned to Aragorn. "It is my belief that given his cloaking the Ring for as long as he had, he will prove difficult to find, but we must try. If we find that this is the Ring of Power, there may yet be time to destroy it completely and rid the world of Sauron's evil for eternity."_

 _Aragorn didn't hesitate to nod in acquiesce, making Elrond and Arathell smile with relief. The situation was grim, but there was hope yet, even if she didn't believe in the emotion. More correctly, there was chance. Chance that not only would they be able to ascertain the Ring's location, but be able to destroy it, all while edging Aragorn closer to the destiny he was born into. His ability to even now accept the great responsibility that Gandalf laid before him was a sign that he was not the same Man that he was seventeen years prior. This was a good omen._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 3002 – Imladris**_

 _She grinned at the sight of the little Hobbit, the creature having not aged a day since she had last seen him. He recognized her straight off, he had said, for she was the mother of one he would call a dear friend. He had made her laugh, which in turn had made him smile._

 _"You are more beautiful than I remember, my lady," he breathed as he was finally settled into his room._

 _"And you are more handsome than I remember, Master Baggins," she returned. "And the memory of Elves has been fabled to be very accurate indeed." He blushed a deep red in front of her. "This can only lead me to believe that you have only grown more handsome in our time apart."_

 _Bilbo turned a deeper shade and bustled about his room, unsure of how to respond. "Tell me, do you see much of Kara? She always promised to visit me in Bag End, but I have yet to hear from her."_

 _Arathell sighed. "I receive word from her on occasion. She and Prince Kili have been married now for sixty-one years, can you believe it?"_

 _The Hobbit nodded without pause. "Yes, I can. Ever since the Company departed from Rivendell, they were nigh inseparable." He chuckled. "He would not let that Elf Prince touch her while we were in Mirkwood. They didn't treat any of the Dwarves well, but Kili was especially protective over her. And during the Battle of the Five Armies, I don't think that he left her side for a second. She saved him; I recall that much. They had tried to stay close to Thorin, but when he fell… Fili and Kili nearly died trying to protect him. Kara saved Kili who then in turn saved Fili." He swallowed, the memories of the Battle alive in his eyes. "I think that without Kara… all three would have been lost. The Company couldn't have been more thankful for her then."_

 _Arathell reached to touch his hand. "If I could have been there, I would. I did hear of it, but by the time that I did, the Battle was over. I should have been there for her."_

 _Bilbo clasped her hand and patted it gently. "But she is alive and well, then?"_

 _She nodded, thankful to think of more pleasant things. "She is. I believe that she has also had a child by Kili. I have yet to meet her, but they call her Glorsha. It means Glittering Moon in Khuzdul, I am told." She smiled, recalling the portrait done of her granddaughter in her room. "She is very beautiful and has already broken hearts."_

 _"I can believe that well enough. She is her mother's daughter. And further, her mother is her mother's daughter," Bilbo laughed._

 _"You flatter, but alas, I have not broken any hearts," Arathell quieted._

 _"That you know of," Bilbo replied, a glint in his happy eyes that said that he knew something that she didn't. She scanned her mind, wondering when he could have known about Glorfindel._

 _"Glorfindel's heart is not broken for he has yet to ask me to break it," she said tersely. "But in any case, Kara has also birthed a son, ensuring the line of Durin, she tells me. She is most proud of this accomplishment, but they love their children equally. And I believe that they both look to have more children if the world becomes lighter."_

 _"And what do they call the new Prince?" the Hobbit asked curiously, clearly dismissing the discussion of Glorfindel, which made her more relaxed._

 _"His name is Thorent," she answered casually. "It is meant to pay homage to both Thorin and the Mountain. He is the younger of the two and seems to have embraced the carefree spirit of his father, while Glorsha seems to have inherited Thorin's seriousness."_

 _At this, Bilbo laughed heartily and clapped his hands. "Even through the children of his sister-son's does his seriousness still transcend! What a marvel, that is!" Arathell laughed at that as well. Bilbo sighed and settled down again. "I assume though that it can bring grief to her father and uncle. She must remind them both so greatly of Thorin. I did not know him for as long as I would have liked to, but even I would feel sadness, I think."_

 _Arathell nodded. "Kara has spoken of that in her letters. She is stubborn too but apparently only talk from her father can make her think differently. She reveres Kili very, very much, while Thorent stays more with Kara."_

 _"The bond between daughters and fathers is great, I hear," he agreed._

 _She smiled. "I hear you have a tenant of your own kin in Bag End."_

 _Bilbo's face lit up once more at the thought. "Yes, my Frodo. He is my nephew, though quite distantly, yet I love him as I would a son. I never did find a nice Hobbit maiden to take as my bride, but Frodo restored some reason to go on after I had returned. I found that after being surrounded by a company of loud and boisterous Dwarves, I was quite lonely upon returning. I thought that I would feel relief and be able to have a decent night's sleep at last without having to hear Bombur snore any longer. Truthfully, I miss it all. I miss the friends I have made. And perhaps, if the journey were not so terribly far, I would have returned to Erebor itself to spend my days with the members of the Company._

 _"But Frodo is a happy spirit and very much is in love with Shire. I would tell him stories often of my adventures, and he would be excited to hear them. He would pretend to be off on his own adventures, but I see now that he is very much at peace in the comforts of the Shire. I am not angry with him about this either. The Shire is a beautiful place, and it will always be a part of me. He reminds me of myself before I left. I wonder what should happen if he were to leave."_

 _She gave him a small grin and touched his touch. "You may yet see him again. I know you don't mean to return to the Shire, but there is always hope that he will step out on his own and come and see Imladris. I would be very joyous to meet him if he would. And I hope for your sake that he does. Clearly you and he did not receive the farewells that you deserve."_

 _"I meant for it to be like that," Bilbo argued. "I was never good with goodbyes. I have learned this now after the Dwarves. And I even tried to leave without them knowing; of course it did not work, the clever fools. So I did not want to put myself through that ordeal again with Frodo. I think that it could be even more disastrous and painful."_

 _"Still, he must be sad by you being gone," she reminded._

 _"Of course he is. But this was a road that I had been putting off for far too long. I knew from the first moment I saw Imladris that I would return. And return I have."_

 _"I could take you the rest of the way to Erebor, if you would like?" she suggested._

 _Bilbo waved his hand. "No, no, no. I am old and frail now. And the world is a much more dangerous place than I remember it being. My journey here was tenfold more terrifying than whatever I experienced with them. My old heart cannot take scares such as those. Perhaps, like Frodo, I will be privileged to see them again too before I pass on," he sighed._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 3007 – Imladris**_

 _The weary Man reentered the domain of Elrond and Arathell sighed. The weight on his shoulders was great and she wondered if he had accomplished what Gandalf has sent him out to do._

 _When she learned from Glorfindel about the death of his mother, her heart sank for him. Gilraen had been beautiful and Arathell would not lie and say that she did not admire the human mother for the lengths she would go to, to protect her young. It was inspiring and to hear that age that taken hold of her, it was a sad loss for her. It was a sad loss for all of Imladris, for Gilraen had been loved by many._

 _Immediately upon hearing this, she demanded that a statue be sculpted of the magnificent woman. Aragorn had smiled when he saw her efforts in the woods and had thanked her at supper that evening and was gone again in the morning, still continuing the blasted search for the gangly creature, Gollum._

* * *

 _ **T.A. 3009 – Imladris**_

 _Glorfindel and she watched from her window once again as her sister was escorted into the realm. Seeing her sister after the argument they had had, even if it was long ago now, still ignited hurt in her soul. And with every return she made to Rivendell, the other Elves could only be reminded of how Arathell Duvainith was lacking in comparison to the Evenstar Elf maid._

 _"I daresay that she grows in beauty," Glorfindel murmured into her ear and she nodded._

 _Arathell still refused to speak with her kin about the last argument. She and her brothers had only partially resolved their qualms already and she still struggled letting words escape her when she was with them, but she was ultimately jealous and hurt by her sister._

 _She quickly left to go to the training ring, looking for her friend, only to remember seconds later that Gandalf had recruited him again to the cause of finding Gollum. So instead, she grabbed her bow and sword, sealing them to her person and went to the stables._

 _Daeroch was an old horse now, and the enchantments placed on him to keep him alive were wearing. He had always been a grey horse, but his eyes were glassy, and she wondered just how much longer she had with him. Arathell could not find it in her to relieve him of those years yet to come. He should pass on with dignity and he would if Arathell had anything to say about it._

 _"Would you go on one more journey with me, mellon?" She hugged his nose and scratched the place between his eyes. "I would never forgive myself if something happened to you." But she knew her horse's mind as if he could truly speak and her gift permitted that. His mind yelled for this journey, and she laughed. She had been in Imladris for many years now, the world not desperately needing her services, and with her sister back, the air was harder to breathe in. It was too crowded for her. A look at the standoffish horse that was her sister's she could see that maybe she hadn't been the only one to feel crowded by the presence of Arwen. It made her smile to know how connected she and her animal were._

 _Arathell saddled her horse lightly and found a spare horseshoe. Resting it where the reins and such had been, she knew that her family would understand the message well enough._

 _With a final look at Imladris, she rode hard away from the borders of her home, one place in her mind._

* * *

 **Any ideas as to where she is off to?**

 **I hope that you guys liked the chapter, and please leave a review on your way out. Some of you guys have been critiquing my Glorfindel, and just know that I do sincerely love the character. And I am definitely trying to keep him in character as much as possible. :) And again, her childish behavior... I know. It is annoying for me too, rereading all of these chapters. You just want to shake her into sanity, but... this is who she is. I promise it won't last for forever. Or at least I don't think it does... I think she's grown a lot from the beginning and from where I'm writing in the story, she has grown a lot. :) Just hang in there, my faithful readers!**

 **Thanks again to those who reviewed, as well as to those who favorited and followed the story! I'd love to hear from you guys too! Don't forget to check out the music as well! :)**

 **Let's get to 90 reviews! And then on to 100!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	20. Chapter 20

**Oh, my goodness! Hello, everyone! I cannot believe the response that I got for this last chapter! I am so happy that everyone is enjoying the story thus far. MY GOSH - 9 REVIEWS! That is for sure the highest amount of reviews I have gotten for a single chapter for this story! Oh, my goodness - so happy! Thanks so much to those who reviewed, and of course, thanks to those who followed and/or favorite the story. It is much appreciated, and I could not be happier!**

 **This chapter takes place basically right where the last one left off, so if you want a refresher... probably wouldn't be a bad idea. And keep in mind that Fellowship starts (the action anyway) in 3018. Technically, it already has since Bilbo has had his birthday and is now in Imladris. However, where Arathell is concerned, it hasn't. So, Part Three will be arriving shortly - if not the Chapter 21, then probably Chapter 22. I haven't decided where I am going to start it yet. :)**

 **And we are sooo close to 100 reviews! Remember that the 100th reviewer gets a one-shot dedicated to them. Details can be found in the last AN for Chapter 18. Rewriting the rules is so very tiring.**

 **ONE LAST THING - I APOLOGIZE MY AN'S ARE SO LONG. (Seriously, I do. I'm impressed if anyone actually reads these.) I only today realized that I have been added to Lord of the Rings Undiscovered Gems community, founded by** _Myvanwy_ **.** **Thank you soooo much! I am very honored. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing except Arathell, Kara, and Daeroch, the horse (who apparently is very loved by a certain reviewer!)**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Not While I'm Around - Edward Sanders and Helena Bonham Carter

"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around  
Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around"

 _ **T.A. 3009 - Mirkwood**_

 _Going through Mirkwood again was never pleasant, and the air was only darker than it had been half of a century ago. It plagued her to know that in such a short amount of time, the world had changed so much outside of her Rivendell._

 _Legolas found her once more and actually did nothing to antagonize her. Perhaps he was as weary as she was. "You are visiting your daughter?" he supposed as they rode together at a slow walk._

 _Arathell nodded. "The world is dark and grave. There may not be many more opportunities I get to see her. She has children now and I would look upon them at least once."_

 _The Prince sighed. "The world is dark," he agreed. "We cannot hold Mirkwood for much longer, I fear. Dol-Guldur may be void of Sauron's presence, but there are three Nazgûl in the fortress, we believe. Being in these woods is not safe." They lapsed into a silence. "Were you ever here when this place was called Greenwood?" he suddenly asked, a memory far away in his blue eyes._

 _Arathell nodded. "I have been. You would have been too young to properly remember my coming. In fact, I never passed through your home, just your woods."_

 _"Ah," he acknowledged. "It was such a beautiful place then. There was music and dancing, and we were not afraid to light fires in our woods. It has always been dangerous here, but never to this degree."_

 _"Why have you stayed?" she asked, staring ahead and keeping her mind sharp._

 _He laughed mirthlessly. "My father is very stubborn. Being so close to Erebor has made him catch this stubbornness from the Dwarves. He believes that Mirkwood will endure and no evil will be able to penetrate our home. He does not even listen to me."_

 _"Are you finally admitting the lowliness of your people?" she remarked, arching her eyebrow in a taunt of old. Their politeness had been nice, but she found that it was history that brought her the greatest comfort._

 _And he must have realized it too, for he reared to her challenge. "You have not changed in arrogance, Shadow. You are still young."_

 _"I am older than you by almost one thousand years," she reminded with a growl._

 _"Obviously those one thousand years have only addled your brain into thinking that you are superior."_

 _She smiled. "Our taunts are not as good as they once were, are they?" she whispered._

 _Legolas returned her smile. "Perhaps. But I believe that our races through kingdoms may endure," he exclaimed, urging his horse to run head first through the woods. It made her laugh and she kicked Daeroch into action, feeling the wind grace through her hair in a way that made her feel like she was flying. She caught up to him and Daeroch, despite his age, sensed the game and ran faster, blowing past the prince and all the way to the edge of the forest. She pulled the reins to look back at him. He signaled his farewell and she repeated the gesture before turning and making her way to the Lonely Mountain._

* * *

 _The people of Dale had remembered her well enough and the new King Brand sent an escort to follow her for the rest of the way, but in her excitement, she rode ahead of them and reached the entrance hours before her supposed escort._

 _The Dwarves also recognized her quickly and they didn't even need priming to open the door for her._

 _She walked through to find the throne room, a hallowed piece of mountain that glittered with golden light. Ahead of her, there was a silvery wisp that danced above an emerald looking chair – the throne of Erebor. She stalked forward proudly, seeing the King in his position. Once she reached his feet, she bowed politely and met his smile with a small one of her own._

 _"I was wondering when we would be seeing you!" Fili erupted with a laugh. "Kara will be pleased to see you at last. I think she was even considering visiting you soon enough."_

 _"I am just through the door, and you already wish to tell me everything that I have missed, Your Majesty?" she teased with a grin._

 _He nodded seriously, but the gleam in his eyes suggested the playfulness that was still present in him. Just then, she noticed another Dwarf, standing at the King's side. He was tall, for a Dwarf, and his eyes were brown and muddy, and his hair was long and dark. What she recognized first though was the lack of a beard. This had to be Thorent. He was a handsome Dwarf, just like his father._

 _"Are you Lady Arathell?" he asked with a wonder in his eye – a youth that she strove to protect as a warrior. It was a youth that she would not see destroyed by the toils of war._

 _She inclined her head. "I am. And you must be Prince Thorent. You are the spitting image of your father, though I am sure that you are told that very often. I am sorry that it has taken me so long to meet you. Your mother speaks very highly of you in her letters."_

 _Thorent blushed. "You must want to see her more than you wish to see me."_

 _At this, she chuckled a little. "I would be more than happy to see all of you. While I miss your mother the most, I would never turn you or your uncle away."_

 _"Why don't you take Lady Arathell to your mother?" Fili suggested. "Glorsha is supposed to spend some time with your mother, and I believe that Kili may already be there, avoiding duties as usual." He looked back at her. "How long do you intend to stay with us, my lady?"_

 _Arathell hesitated with her words and cleared her throat. "I will speak with Kara about it. However long my daughter wishes me to stay is how long I will stay." Truthfully, Arathell was going to try to persuade Kara to let her stay here for a while. It was remote, and it was not a place where she would live in anyone's shadow. With the Dwarves, there was a higher sense of loyalty and appreciation for their fellow people. They all worked together as one large unit, and Arathell found that to be a rare and beautiful thing in their current world. If she could find even the smallest of refuges in Erebor, she would take it without a doubt._

 _Fili nodded in agreement and then Thorent began leading her through the extravagant tunnels and chambers of the city of Erebor. It was a beautiful home, to be sure, and it was cozy in the sense of the idea of living in an actual mountain. But the air was dry and musty, and Arathell wasn't sure how she liked that. It was constant, which was nice, but by being constant, it was also dull._

 _"How old are you?" the young Dwarf asked from her right, looking up with wonder at her. "You look like you are fifty in our years. You are so fair and beautiful, but I have heard tale that Elves live much longer than Dwarves do. So, I ask."_

 _Arathell smiled and touched the boy's shoulder. "I am almost three thousand years old," she answered truthfully. "But I must wait a few more centuries."_

 _His brown eyes widened with excitement. "You've seen so much! What a gift that must be, to see the world's history unfolding before your eyes. You have memories of thousands of years ago! You've watched the mountains change their shape and the rivers change their course. You may be as old as some mountains even!"_

 _Her grin shrank by his words. "Yes, I have seen many things in this life. But my mind is very tired from seeing all that it has. I have seen joy but I have seen far more occasions of grief. Our world has rarely ever been truly at peace or truly happy. As an Elf, I guard the fragile peace that we have. But when that peace breaks, there has always been an evil and evil does things which I will never be able to wash clean from my mind. I have seen rivers change, but I have also seen friends die. Count your blessings, Thorent. It is good to not be Elf-kind in our age."_

 _The Dwarf beside her pondered her words for a time. "You have an older sister?" he suddenly asked, and her mood diminished even more. Arathell nodded acutely. "I have an older sister. She is as beautiful as our mother and everyone loves her. But she is stubborn and serious. How could they all love her so much? I think it is because they see my great uncle, Thorin in her. And they loved him more than anything. Do you ever feel that maybe you are loved less than your sister?"_

 _Arathell nearly stumbled at the question, feeling a surge of empathy for her foster grandson. "Arwen is adored by our people. The love that your sister and mine possess from their people is different from the kind of love that you and I have. I suspect that you and I are looked at with a great deal of respect, which can be both a blessing and a curse. We may have their ears, but it seems that we may never truly have their eyes. But at least we have something, yes?"_

 _Again he was quiet and they stopped in front of a large door that was decorated with carvings of gems under the roots of massive trees. "This is my parents' chamber," Thorent announced. "May we speak later? I would wish to be wise like you."_

 _She touched the faint hint of stubble on his face and bent over to kiss his forehead. "I would be honored to speak with you at another time."_

 _Thorent beamed, and it was a sight that reminded her much of Kili's grin. He then went to knock on the door, and when it opened, there was a beautiful Dwarven women standing there. She was different than Arathell remembered, and the sight made her tremble a little. Her daughter was older now, and there was just a hint of silver streaks in her black tresses. But the emerald gleam in her eyes was the exact same. "Mother!" Kara yelled, wasting no time in embracing her. Her arms were still strong, but the muscle that Arathell had spent decades maturing was slowly withering, and it was obvious. "You are here!" she exclaimed, pulling away from her with tears dotting her eyes. "Kili! Love, come here!" There was a shuffling and then another Dwarf emerged, looking just as jovial as he had half of a century ago with specks of silver in his brown hair as well._

 _"Lady Arathell!" he laughed, taking his turn of embracing her. "I did not know that we were expecting you! Kara, you should have told me!"_

 _Kara laughed as well. "I was just as oblivious to her coming as you, Kili. Mother, what are you doing here? Have you met my children? Is everything alright in Rivendell?"_

 _"You have many questions," Arathell admonished. "You always did." Kara still looked at her expectantly. "I am here visiting my foster family, Kara. I have missed you. I have met your son; he seems very much like you though he looks exactly like his father." At this, Kili glowed with pride. "I have yet to meet your daughter, though I look forward to the time that I do. I have heard her brother speak of her beauty and how much her people are in love with her. And yes, child, everything is fine in Imladris. Though the times are getting darker, as I'm sure you know. This may have been the only time when I would be able to see you. My gift of foresight has never been very extensive, but even I know that there is something coming. It is going to tear at the very foundations of our world, and we can only hope that we are going to survive this quake."_

 _Both of them looked more nervous now instead of happy to welcome her. Thorent had already left which was some solace, but his parents looked troubled. "So you came to say goodbye," Kara supplied._

 _"I came to stay until I am needed elsewhere," Arathell disputed. "I intend to postpone my goodbye for as long as I can, but I cannot guarantee how long of a time this will be. But," she started reluctantly, fighting the threads of emotion that reached out for her. "But I will leave sooner if that is what you want."_

 _Kili and Kara exchanged looks that seemed very soulful. For the first time, Arathell wondered if there was anything that she could actually learn from her daughter. She was younger by more than just centuries, but she seemed so at peace with the world around her, even when the world was awful and dark. How was that? How was that possible?_

 _Kara finally met her gaze and smiled softly. "You gave me a home for over fifty years. You raised me and loved me as if I was your true child. How could I turn you away from my new home? I could never. You are my mother." Arathell heaved a sigh of relief and Kili gave her a warm smile of encouragement._

 _"I never would have met Kara if she hadn't been with you in Rivendell," Kili mentioned. "You are welcome to stay as long as you like. Dinner will be in an hour, and I have matters to attend to. Should I send for Glorsha to join you?" He looked to his wife. "I am sure that our daughter would like to meet the woman who raised her mother."_

 _Kara nodded with a sigh and allowed Kili to kiss her tenderly on the cheek. When the husband finally left, Kara's shoulders sagged with bliss and she watched his figure disappear around a corner. "I have been married to him for almost seventy years and I still love him as fiercely as I did all those years ago when we first met."_

 _Arathell chuckled at the words and followed her daughter inside the chambers. They were different than how they were the last time she had been to Erebor. The walls were still enriched with a deep emerald color, but there was more warmth in it now. The stone wasn't seeping coldness and there were candles that dripped with yellow wax at every turn. The room smelled richer as well – a homey vanilla scent that made her bones feel younger and fuller. It was a home._

 _"Do you mean to say that you were in love with him upon meeting him?" she asked, taking a seat on a plush chair that was surely too small for her._

 _Kara blushed and moved about the room with grace that was similar to the Elves. Her moves were fluid, but there was a hint of stockiness there, a deep purpose that rang out with each step – a sign that these Dwarves had left a permanent mark on her daughter. "I do, Mother. I do not pretend to know how such a thing is possible, but I knew from the moment that I sat beside him at Lord Elrond's table that I was someday going to be his wife. He gave me this kind, warm-hearted smile, and my own heart simply melted by default. He says that it was my smile to him that told him that we would always be together. I like to think of it being rather poetic and beautiful."_

 _There was a knock at the door then, and Arathell pushed herself more into the chair. Princess or not, this daughter was practically kin to her. She had heard tale enough about the pride of Glorsha, daughter of Kili. It apparently rivaled that of Thorin, and Arathell was determined to not let her granddaughter think for a moment that she was above herself._

 _Another Dwarf maiden walked in and she watched with critical eyes. The girl's hair was jet black and was pulled around her neck in a tedious and perfected manner. There were pearls that lined the curlier tresses and the silver circlet that was placed around her head had emeralds dangling off of it. Her eyes were of the brightest green, much like her mother's. Her full lips were pursed on her beardless face and her small, but strong hands clasped the sides of a dark green dress around the sides as she boldly marched into the room._

 _She gave a nod to her mother and then stared at Arathell with a mask that surely pushed away any Dwarf that tried to come too close. But Arathell was older and wiser than such a mask, and she saw clearly the prowess that this woman projected, and she saw potently the burden of worry that weighed on her shoulders. "So my brother is truthful," she started with a deep voice. "There is an Elf in Erebor."_

 _"Glorsha, this is my mother – your grandmother," Kara introduced. "And Mother, this is my oldest child, Glorsha. Isn't she beautiful?"_

 _Arathell nodded and finally stood from the small chair, making her height apparent over the girl. "You may call me Arathell," she said as calmly as she could manage._

 _Glorsha looked unimpressed and stared at her mother. "Rarely do Elves ever get to see so much of our home," she pointed out, the question obvious._

 _Before Kara had a chance to reply, Arathell interrupted and stood in front of her daughter, blocking both of their views. "I am here because I am family. I would hope that you would not see me for my pointed ears, but for the love that I hold for your mother, and the potential love that I hold for you. You are much like Thorin." Glorsha rolled her eyes and smoothed out the front of her gown. "You know this; you have been told this many times I am sure. But I also see much of me in you. You have a pride that could have rivaled my own had we grown up together. And this pride is not present for no reason either, is it? You are a daughter of Durin – a Princess of the highest clan of Dwarves in all of Middle Earth. There is respect in this position. But I would simply hope that you are aware that there is also humility in every position as well. Even Elves do not claim to be so above others that we cannot see them. And to answer your mother's question, yes. You are very beautiful indeed, and I do so very much look forward to knowing my daughter's daughter better."_

* * *

 **Some of you guessed correctly - she went to Erebor! Gotta give Kara some love, and I couldn't resist the challenge of writing Glorsha and Thorent. They are also mine and did not exist in canon.**

 **Let's get to 100 reviews! If we do it quickly, I may be able to get the lucky reviewer their one-shot by the end of the weekend. During the week is kinda hard, so let's get to 100!**

 **And check out the song as always! Coming in with some Sweeney Todd soundtrack in the spirit of Halloween. :)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello, lovelies! Wow! We made it to 100 reviews! That is crazy! Thank you all so much for your constant support, and I hope that this can continue! And congratulations to** _Cathael!_ **You won the 100th reviewer challenge, and I am very much looking forward to hearing what you propose for your one-shot! Hopefully, I will be able to get it out there soon. :)**

 **Now, if you had your heart set on getting a one-shot, I will be repeating the competition for the 200th reviewer, so everyone still has a shot! Although, if you win one one-shot, you unfortunately cannot win two. Gotta give everyone a chance.**

 **I loved hearing from you guys! Thanks to those who have reviewed and to those who have favorited and followed my story! Let's get to 200! Oh, and Part Three will be arriving shortly! So close to Fellowship now, it is killing me!**

 **Disclaimer: I won nothing related to Tolkien's works or Jackson's representation, aside from Arathell, Kara, Glorsha, Thorent and...**

* * *

Part Two - But It's Complicated

Coming Home - Alter Bridge

"So I'm coming home  
Lost on a road I don't belong  
I'll rest my song  
I'm so alone  
Far from the streets I call my own  
I'm coming home"

 _ **July 1, 3018 – Erebor**_

 _Arathell's fingers gracefully traced through the young girl's hair, braiding it with love and expertise. It was a familial braid, according to Dwarf traditions, and she felt honored to give it to her. The girl's older siblings had already been given their numerous familial braids, but this one was special in Arathell's eyes._

 _Her daughter had had another child during her time there. Kili had been overjoyed at the prospect of another baby and his eyes lit up like stars when he met his newborn daughter. Kara, too had the motherly glow surrounding her, and there seemed to be nothing that could be done to rid the emotion off of her comely face. The doting parents had given her the name Arabiff – blood beauty. The prefix, Kara assured, was not meant to taken as a Dwarven name, rather an Elven one, meaning that her name was noble beauty. Arathell would have felt proud either way._

 _"Grandmother?" the girl whispered, staring into the fire._

 _"Yes?" Arathell replied, tying off the braid. The girl's hair was unique to that of her family, and truthfully, the name Blood Beauty was appropriate enough. It wasn't a fiery red like she remembered Gloin's to be, rather a dark copper. There were not any in her lineage that had such coloring, but there had been browns and yellows. It was Kili's mother, Dis, who believed that the colors simply came together in this girl. Dis believed that this was the girl who would go further than even her uncle and bring the clans together, flaming them until they pooled into one cohesive unit like gold. But Dwarves were all about burning and reshaping things, so Arathell wasn't as confident in the other matriarch's opinion. But like her older siblings, the girl was so far showing no signs of ever having a beard, which was fine in Arathell's opinion._

 _"Why are you living with us?" Arathell's fingers paused as she was drawn out of her thoughts. "I like having you here, but I don't know why you are here. You are an Elf, not a Dwarf and Uncle Fili says that loyalty to your people is important. So why are you not with your own people? Do they not need you?"_

 _Arathell smiled grimly and retracted her hands completely. "Your braid is done. I think that your mother is waiting for you in the dining hall for dinner. You shouldn't disappoint her."_

 _Her granddaughter gave her a look of frustration, but she stood from the wooden chair anyway and made her way out of the room after pecking her on the cheek._

 _Only when the door closed, did Arathell sigh and rest her temple on her hand. She had been with her foster family for nearly a decade by now and the concept of time and all of its lengthy processes had changed for her. Ten years had never been anything to an Elf – in fact it was a second in their lifetimes, but it was different now. True, she had lived with Dwarves before and had been a part of their lives before, but this was different. She had another family now, with a daughter and grandchildren whom she loved very dearly. And she saw how the years treated all of them. Glorsha, it appeared was finally in the process of finding her other half, supposedly and Thorent was learning more and more about royal duties every day. Kili was maturing without even knowing it, and Kara's wrinkles around her eyes were becoming more prominent from all of her smiles. And little Arabiff had transformed from a helpless baby to a smart little girl – all in ten years. Things like this would happen over centuries if they were with Elves. Arathell could finally appreciate just how fragile time was to these races, and it made her heart ache to know that she would outlive this family. She had already done so by tenfold even and yet she would live for thousands of years more, long after the time that their bones would turn to dust._

 _A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts and her head sprung to action to look as Kili walked inside with a sour look on his face. "There is someone here to see you," he grumbled, pushing the door open further and beside him stood someone she would never have expected._

 _"You still find comfort with them, mellon nin?" the voice drawled, and she sat up higher in her chair, meeting his cool blue eyes without emotion. "When was the last time you stepped outside of the Lonely Mountain?"_

 _She looked down at Kili and gestured that he could leave. The door closed behind him and she stood from her chair, walking towards her window. "I never would have thought that my father would send you to come and fetch me from my haven. Furthermore, I never would have thought that he would be able to find me in the first place, let alone have someone come for me."_

 _Her visitor did not seem troubled by her words. "He does not know that I am here. He has not sent me for you, though he does wonder endlessly where you have gone. Apparently, your horseshoe in the stables was not very indicative of your intentions. But in any case, I am here because I think you are needed."_

 _She scoffed and turned, facing his bright blond hair with a smirk. "And why is Lady Arathell Duvainith of Imladris needed? Can Lady Arwen Undómiel not handle the torments of Imladris?"_

 _"Calm your tone, Arathell," The Prince murmured warningly._

 _"Well then what are you doing here, Legolas?" she snapped. "What am I so needed for?"_

 _Legolas growled at her sharp voice and marched up to her to grab her upper arms in a tight grasp. "It has been found." Disbelieving, she gave him a blank look, as if she didn't understand what it was that he was trying to confer to her. "The One. It's on its way to Imladris – in the hands of a Hobbit from the Shire, no less. Lord Elrond will call a council and I am meant to go." She blinked, hiding the fear that began to tread through her veins. The One Ring was a dark force that she had no desire to become mingled with, but she would not allow this meager prince to think that he was better than her in any way. "As are you," he finished._

 _"If Father has not sent for me then I am not needed," she disagreed._

 _He growled once more and gave her a harsh shove that sent her back colliding with the stone walls. She swallowed the yelp and produced a feral growl of her own, leaping from the walls to grab harshly at his garments while clawing at his face. With a sudden jerk of her shoulders, she came to a crashing stop and glared at him. She gave another growl and tried to escape, but he soon tired of her and gave her a fierce shove and she finally cried out and fell to the floor, staring up at her attacker with wild eyes. "The both of you were always so stubborn. Can you not deduce with the Valar's gift that he does indeed long for you at home?"_

 _"I see affection directed at my siblings and none left for me," she spat. "But you still attacked one of his daughters."_

 _"You needed it," he argued. "You have become weak in your dotage in this mountain. Perhaps you have fallen prey to the mounds of gold beneath our feet. Perhaps you are now more of a Dwarf than you are an Elf."_

 _Arathell found that she didn't have any tactical response to finish him off. She folded her arms across her chest instead and glared at him. "So you want me to go with you to Imladris?"_

 _"You are wise, Arathell. Why can you not see that your talent is needed?"_

 _She stood from the floor, not meeting his gaze. "Elrond wants to destroy it then," she guessed. Legolas did not respond. "Oh, of course, you don't know anything. You are only an Elf Prince of a lesser realm." He took a step closer to her. "If that vile thing is going to be destroyed, then it will need to be in the fires of where it was made. It will need to be taken from Imladris all the way to Mordor and thrown into the cracks of Orodruin. It will be a demanding task of whoever takes it, and they will need a company to carry them when their feet fail them. This is why you are going, isn't it? You desire to be in this company if this is Elrond's decision." Legolas nodded and she gave a nod of her own in agreement. "It is a noble goal. I can only assume that you want me to go with you. You desire Shadow's abilities on this venture."_

 _"I am beginning to question her abilities when she cannot even defend herself from a push," he barked._

 _She grinned, seeing only friendly playfulness in his eyes now. She had known the Elf for so long that by now, she doubted that she could truly say that she hated him as vehemently as she once did. His taunts were childish and his fighting weak in her opinion. But it was a familiarity that was quite rare. "I will go back," she said clearly._

 _"Come to Mirkwood and we will depart from there. I expect to see you soon." Legolas didn't offer any other words of farewell. He simply acknowledged her nod in agreement and then left the room. She watched out of her window as he rode away on his white horse. Having him suddenly gone though, made her feel darker. She loathed the idea of saying goodbye to the Dwarves she dubbed her family. In fact, it was hard to see with her little foresight if she would ever see them again. There were too many destinies and none of them seemed stable._

 _She ventured out of her room, going to the dining hall where she would eat with her daughter and her family. Arathell took her seat as normal and ate her salad as normal._

 _"I saw the Prince of Mirkwood today, Mother," Kara announced, finally broached the subject once dessert had arrived. "Kili says that he even brought him to your room," she continued. The husband, brother-in-law and children stopped with their chatter, waiting for Arathell's reply. "What business did he need to discuss with you?"_

 _Arathell chewed slowly, feeling all of their eyes weighing heavily on her. "Lord Elrond of Imladris needs me in my homeland. There are urgent matters that must be discussed and they cannot wait, unfortunately. I have plans to leave within the upcoming months, if not this very month. I am to meet Legolas in Mirkwood and together, he and I will journey back to Rivendell and hear what my father has to say."_

 _"You are leaving us?" Arabiff blurted with wide hazel eyes, the perfect storm of Kili's constant brown and Kara's sparkling green. "You cannot leave us! You are our family!"_

 _"Biff!" Thorent snapped, hushing the little girl. But the look on his very face did not represent anything resembling calm. Over the short years, she had grown very close to her grandson, imparting wisdom where she could, teaching him how to fight the Elven way and even teaching him Sindarin. He had been very eager to learn._

 _"Are you sure you have to go?" Glorsha murmured. "Please." Arathell reluctantly met the woman's gaze. "Our family is small, to be sure. And we do not come from the lineage of Elves, so we are not wise and we are not beautiful, but we love just as heartily as them."_

 _"We love you more than them," Thorent added with a stout nod, reaching to take her hand across the table._

 _Arathell pulled her hand back and wiped at her face. She met the stare of her daughter and softly shook her head. "Children, if your grandmother must go, then she must go. She has responsibilities that fall outside of our realm and outside of her realm as well. There are numerous beings counting on her, and she has never been one to abandon her duty."_

 _Arathell felt her throat clog at the words, knowing that it was because she had done such a thing that she was in Erebor at all. She should have stayed with her family. She should have braved the dull looks from her people as they would sweep over her to look at the radiance that was her sister. But she had run from it all, and now it was time to accept what the world needed from her. She was a warrior and she did not lightly accept surrender, and she would not do so in this case._

 _She would go back to them. She would see them again. She would live so that everyone could. There was simply no negotiating this, even if that meant her death._

 _"We have to support her in what she does, for we are her family and this is what family does," Kili continued with a warm smile directed at her._

 _Arabiff began crying, running to her and plopping herself on her lap. "I don't want you to leave! I didn't mean what I said before! You can stay! I want you to stay! We love you here, and I don't want you to go!" she wailed, holding tightly to her tunic. "Why do you want to leave?"_

 _"Arabiff, I do not want to leave," Arathell cooed, petting the girl's hair. "I am happy here with you and I would stay until the end of eternity if I could. But I cannot." She sighed and pulled the girl away slightly, brushing her thumbs over her wet cheeks. "You are young, but you will understand this someday."_

 _Fili cleared his throat and wiped his face with a napkin. "Should we be sending our own ambassador for this meeting?"_

 _Arathell hesitated and then gave a careful nod. "You need not send him immediately. I am sure that this will be something that my father will send for when the time is right. You need only wait."_

 _He nodded solemnly and discarded the napkin. "What kind of supplies will you be needing?"_

* * *

 _Arathell set her pack on her bed, staring out the window of her bedroom for the last time. She hadn't told Kara and the others that she was leaving. She had never excelled at goodbyes, and with her determination to see them again, a goodbye would only illuminate the worries that surrounded them all. Even little Arabiff knew better._

 _She walked quietly out of the fortress, feeling the wind hit her face harshly. She could see Esgaroth in the distance, moonlight shimmering of the water surrounding it. Dale was at her feet, barely beginning to wake as the sun tried to climb around the mountain._

 _Arathell took a deep breath and began walking. Daeroch had passed only two years ago, and the loss was still very fresh for her. That horse had become a deep part of her life and to not have him with her stung. But the Valar would guard his soul well enough. She would journey on foot to Mirkwood, praying that she would be able to make it there safely. From there, Legolas and a band of his ilk would join her in her journey to Imladris._

 _"I expected as much," a voice croaked. Arathell spun around to see tears flooding bright green eyes, touched with wrinkles. "You will not wait for them." It was not a question._

 _She shook her head and looked back on the road. "I could not bear to say goodbye. But I will come back. And when I do, the world will be happier and it will be safer. I could take the children with me to Imladris – to show them my world." Arathell wasn't sure how much she believed her words, but she knew better than to show her true despair to her daughter, for it would plague her harder._

 _Kara shook her head and grabbed her hand. "I was under the impression that they were your world – that I was your world, even."_

 _"You are a significant part of it, to be sure," Arathell agreed. She grasped her daughter's shoulders tightly, as if the grip would fight away the tears. "Kara means healer; did you know that?" Her daughter looked confused. "Of course you would know that. It is a beautiful name, and it matches you very well. You healed your husband and his brother after the death of their uncle." Her voice caught. "And you healed me when your mother brought you to Imladris." Kara cried earnestly now, not bothering to wipe at the tears. "I was so broken and mangled when I met you – a little eleven year old who had just watched her own mother die in front of her. You were the size of Arabiff. You made me feel more than I had ever felt before. You healed me, Kara. And now, you are going to heal those children when they wake up and find that I have gone. Because it is what your name means and it is what you are good at. Do this for me."_

 _Her daughter hugged her tightly. "You cannot promise that you will come back."_

 _"Alright," she surrendered. "But I have already made the promise to myself."_

 _"Will that help you fight harder to stay alive?"_

 _"Yes," she murmured._

 _"Do not break your promise to yourself then," Kara whispered, releasing her and gesturing to the road. "Would you care for as escort to Dale?"_

 _Arathell shook her head. "I do better on my own. I am protected enough." She nodded to Ristor and Finelleth wrapped around her. Kara embraced her one more time and Arathell swallowed the rather large lump in her throat. When her daughter released her, Arathell turned and didn't look back, letting tears slowly trek down her face._

* * *

 _ **July 17, 3018 - Mirkwood**_

 _Coming into Mirkwood again gave her mixed feelings. It brought her a step closer to her homeland, which was apparently a good thing. But it also brought her closer to her homeland where she would be surrounded by her family and whatever disapproving words they had to offer her._

 _"We were wondering when you would be arriving," Legolas announced, stepping from the thicket. "We will be leaving within the month."_

 _Her eyes snapped to the Elf and anger stirred in her. "You made me abandon my daughter and her family only to tell me that we would not even be leaving for Imladris for another month? That is a month that I could have been with my family! Do you not see!? This world that we are living in does not allow for any time to be wasted. I will not have many more opportunities to be with my family, and I should be left in peace for as long as I can! I cannot count on being able to see them in fifty years, because I may be dead! They may be dead! You dragged me away from them for nothing!"_

 _"You are going to your family!" he yelled back. "You should want to be with them! They are your true family! You should want to be with them!"_

 _"Family does not always mean blood!" she snapped back. Angry tears of frustration poured out and she couldn't stop herself from reaching to hit Legolas hard in his chest with his fists. He didn't fight her back, but held onto her shoulders as she banged at his chest before she finally fell into it, crying harder than she had in as long as she could remember._

 _He didn't hold her, and for this she was grateful beyond measure. She finally pushed him away harshly and continued stomping off in the direction of the heart of the forest. He would probably waste no time in telling everyone he knew about her embarrassing fit of hysteria and that only made her angrier. She felt more lost in this forest than she had ever felt before in her life and her body didn't know how to handle it._

 _She avoided everyone in Mirkwood for the rest of the month, and there was more than one time when she considered leaving on her own, in order to spare herself from the humiliation of going with Legolas. She hated showing weakness to anyone, and it had been long since she had actually lost control of her emotions in front of another. Her pain was her own and she wished that Legolas had not had any part in it, but it was too late for wishing now. The time for wishing was past._

* * *

 **There it is! I am sorry if everyone wanted to see more of Kara's kids. Hopefully we will get a chance to see them again properly. Let me know what you think of the chapter! I am excited for your reviews!**

 **As always, check out the music! Alter Bridge is so amazing, and they are my go-to right now so they are probably going to be the chapter winners for a while.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hey there, everyone! Wow, I got a whole 9 reviews for that last chapter! Thank you soooo much! And please review some more; I love hearing from everyone!**

 **So many notes, here, so I apologize.**

 **1\. The one-shot dedicated to Cathael is up and ready to be read! It is called One More Moment if any of you are interested! It is relevant to this particular story and for those of you who love Daeroch... well worth a glance (cough cough and a review!) It was a beautiful idea, and I am very happy that I was deemed worthy enough to write that scene, especially for someone who owns horses and such. I don't own a horse, but it was still good fun to write.**

 **2\. Part Three snuck up on me a little fast. We are officially in the Fellowship! Or at least, this is where I am deigning to start Part Three. This one is pretty long, so we will be here for a while. Everyone, please brush up on "Life Is Beautiful" by Vega 4 as that is the song that runs the entire backbone of this fic.**

 **3\. I realize this chapter is short, but I COULD NOT BEAR the thought of putting anything after the last scene here. SO. Here is my proposal. I am going to be fairly busy this weekend, BUT if I get MORE THAN TEN REVIEWS BY SUNDAY, I WILL POST THE NEXT CHAPTER ON MONDAY. Deal? This is a pretty pivotal chapter and will be threaded in with the rest of the story... especially the last scene. So, I am expecting reviews, people!**

 **Now! Onto to Part Three!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien's work or Jackson's interpretations. Arathell and Kara+kiddos are mine, however!**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Flares - The Script

"Well did you see the flares in the sky?  
Were you blinded by the light?  
Did you feel the smoke in your eyes?  
Did you? Did you?  
Did you see the sparks feel the hope? You are not alone  
Cause someone's out there, sending out flares"

 **August 14, 3018 - Imladris**

When the green leaves of Imladris entered her vision, Arathell frowned, already feeling the judgment of her people falling in waves over her mind. She had already considered herself tired and weak years ago, but she felt even more drained now. While the beauty of Imladris was boundless, every time she returned now, it was only more obvious each time that this was not where she truly felt at home. Erebor had been a break and it had been lovely, but even that was not her home either. Arathell Duvainith did not have a home.

Elrohir gave her a sad smile and touched her cheek before walking away. Elladan had embraced her very gently, as if he was afraid that she would break if he held too tightly. Elrond had kissed her head during their embrace, but it was Arwen who merely stared. They made eye contact, but Arathell walked away to her chambers before Arwen could catch her. Arwen hadn't seemed bothered.

Glorfindel had genuinely smiled and kissed her cheeks and planted a kiss on her lips as well. The touch hurt her more than it pleasured, and she withdrew almost immediately.

So she spent her days away from her family, and away from Legolas as well. The training grounds held her interest for a time. There, she found Aragorn. Out of everyone, she figured that she was most happy to see him again. She sparred with him just as fiercely as she always had in her opinion, but her years away from battle allowed him to beat her twice in rapid succession, taking back his winning lead from her.

"You are sloppy, Arathell," he growled, helping her to her feet. "What were you doing so fiercely while you were away that you could not practice?"

She glared at him and brushed the dirt away from her clothing. "It has only been nine years," she retorted. "I am still good enough to best anyone in a real fight."

"Except me," he pointed out.

"But you would never engage me in a real fight, mellon nin," she answered.

"You never answered my question," he grumbled.

She huffed and then began wiping at the blood that was dripping from her collarbone. It wasn't a deep cut, but the fact that it could have been frightened her. The cut Aragorn had given her was only finger-lengths away from the scar that Angmar had given her. "I was happy there," she submitted, avoiding his grey gaze. "I did not feel the need to think constantly about evil approaching my doorstep. I could think peacefully about peaceful things without having to worry about something disturbing the peace!" Her voice escalated as she carried on, and after being quiet around so many for so long, she couldn't find the power to stop to torrent that was pouring from her lips. "I did not have to hear about the impending doom every day and I did not have to go out into battle and see people's limbs be hewn away by monsters! I did not have to hear about children starving across plains or mothers being raped by hideous things and then being hacked in front of their families! I was happy! All I had to do was smile at my daughter and play with my grandchildren! Why would I purposefully force myself to think about something so evil when the beauty I had surrounded myself with could be gone in a matter of days?!"

"That is exactly why!" he yelled back, marching up to her and forcing her to step back further and further until her back hit a tree. "There is no safe place in this world anymore! And you know this! You have seen the world degrade and you know how necessary it is to be cautious and never play the game of chance!"

"The only thing that could take Erebor would be a Dragon, and the last one has been destroyed," she argued feebly.

"That was decades of years ago!"

"Excuse me!" another voice yelled, disrupting their heated argument. "Whatever is the matter?" Glorfindel came into view then, and she didn't wait to shove past Aragorn and run straight to her quarters. Her blood was boiling underneath her skin and when she stared down into reflective water one of her many fountains, she saw tears. She had already shed too many tears lately, and it was not a part of her that she particularly cared for. There was a time when she used to be so removed and callous with her world. It was easy for her then, and now everything in her body hurt. And it hurt all of the time, besides. These dreadful feelings that Gandalf spoke so highly of once were the last things that she could ever want.

* * *

 **October 20, 3018 – Imladris**

A pale Hobbit was escorted into the halls of Imladris that day. He seemed to be already rather fair, but there was a deathly glow about him that made her frightened. Glorfindel and her father were crouched over the gasping figure and she watched from a distance as he was being treated. Sweat rained on his face and his gasps were now sounding eerie. When she finally saw the vicious stab wound in his shoulder, her hand went immediately to the scar on her chest.

She tried to use her gift with his diminishing soul, seeing a pure light with goodness in it being mangled and torn at by a dark, wispy tormenter. The screams of his soul hurt her ears and the laughing of the darkness hurt her mind. She had had encounters with tormenters like this – and one had even left his mark on her body.

"This is Frodo Baggins, of the Shire," she whispered, no one in the room paying her any attention. They surely knew who it was already as well. "The Ring!" she suddenly yelled, springing into action and coming closer to the weary Hobbit. "Where is the Ring?"

"Arathell, I need to concentrate!" her father snapped, but she would not relent.

"Any wound he has now will only continue to worsen as long as that infernal thing remains on his person. Remove it! Now!" she demanded.

Elrond gave a nod to Glorfindel who removed the outer clothing of the Hobbit far out of the room. She watched as her suitor rummaged through the pockets until he stared at her with true fear. At that moment, a handmaiden joined them with a screech, dropping a golden ring on the floor before turning and running. It was not often that her people were afraid, and even then, they were always known for hiding their fear well.

At the sight of the Ring, she instantly recoiled, standing from her perched position on the floor and backing away until her back painfully rammed into a corner. She snapped her eyes closed, refusing to look at it. She couldn't stay there any longer, and while she knew that leaving it on the floor was reckless, she fled anyway. Glorfindel would remain and do what needed to be done with it.

Every step away from the Ring felt like lead was in her shoes and that same dark and twisted malice was reaching closer and closer to her soul. Her gift became even more hooded around the Ring and the veil around her mind became darker, down to the point where she could not see anything. The auras and veils of others that used to be so prominent were absent and she could see nothing. Never before had she realized that she had taken advantage of her gift until that moment when it was torn from her. The feeling of nakedness overcame her and she was torn between hugging herself and shielding her eyes to lessen the pain she was feeling. Deciding to hold herself, she sank to the floor, her back pressed firmly against the wall. Sobs racked her body, and breathing was harder and harder to accomplish with each passing second.

A pair of hands suddenly grasped her shoulders, but she could not tell whose. She realized that she had shut her eyes tightly, as if refusing the handicap this Ring had done to her. Arathell tried to open them to see who held her, but she could not. The hands pulled her closer until she was pressed against the sturdy chest of someone. Still, she could not open her eyes, but at that moment, she wasn't sure that she wanted to. Humiliation was now stirring in her mind and she couldn't bear to know who it was who actually saw her this way.

So instead, Arathell wrapped her arms around this neck and held herself close, giving in to those desperate, frightened feelings. Deep breathing resounded in her ears and she tried to mimic the sound. A strong heartbeat bounced against her chest and she tried to match its rhythm. Breathing slowly became easier for her and her sobs resolved to merely hiccups.

The hands remained strong, now having wrapped themselves around her waist were rubbing tender circles on her gown, the touches seeping further, burying themselves in her skin, soothing her more. They played with the loose brown braid that dwindled just above her hips, threading and twirling with calm fingers.

At this particular touch, she gasped. Hair was always very special to the Elves – rather any physical contact at all was special to them and to be embraced this way and having her hair played with, there were many who would dare to call it a scandal. Although she had never been known to obey the customs of her people, this had been a heady tradition that she did endorse. But she was loath at that moment to push away such comforting hands. So she allowed the fingers to still play with her hair, feeling calmer by the second.

Her breathing slowed even more and then it became only about the embrace. It was powerful and rejuvenating but it made their synchronized heartbeats beat heavily, each thump with a definite purpose and will to keep breathing and to live.

All too soon, the hands began to retreat from her figure, and Arathell now wanted to open her eyes. The stranger seemed to sense this, as his hand went to cover her eyes. From what she could tell, it was calloused.

That wasn't much help, considering that every man, Elf, Dwarf, or Human had rough fingers. Elves were known for their few imperfections, but none of them were born with the pleasure of never having to work. And they believed that their work shouldn't be hidden from their bodies or their hands.

The hand was also large, only confirming that it was a man that held her eyes closed. But after noticing these things, she could only focus on the warmth that radiated from that palm. It brought her a different kind of peace, this intentional blinding. It was strange to think of it this way, but it did. All of her life, she prided herself on always being in control over every situation. The hand over her eyes only showed to her that now was the time where she was not going to be able to hold onto that control. The thought did scare her, but the warmth from his hand at that moment conferred another message – that somehow, the world would go on.

Arathell had never been able to hope for anything in her life. Arwen had both of their shares, as she always said. But this warmth kindled something that could only be called hope in her. It made her feel stronger, and with the Ring's power only rooms away, this newfound strength was appreciated.

Again, the hand seemed to sense that she understood all of its meanings and disappeared completely. She kept her eyes closed for a while after that, knowing that whoever she had just shared a moment with, did not want her to know about it. After calming her down, she thought that it was the least she could do – to allow a man his secret. Because secrets, like the whereabouts of Sauron's Ring, were now very important to cherish and keep.

* * *

 **Who is it? Step right up and make your guesses now! And keep the hair tradition in mind! This is not something from Tolkien - I created the culture of it myself, but it is critical to the rest of the story, so do not forget it! It will be talked about more though later on, so don't worry if you don't entirely understand it yet. You aren't meant to!**

 **Remember! Ten reviews = early update!**

 **Check out the song - both of them this time - as always!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	23. Chapter 23

**Wow, the response I got for that chapter was amazing! Thanks to all of those who reviewed! And I LOVED hearing all of your guesses as to who the mystery male is. Keep them coming, please! It will be some time before his name is revealed. ;)**

 **Let's get to 130 reviews! And no, I won't do a quick update if we get there super quickly. I'm just saying that it would be nice. I loved getting 10 reviews for one chapter and would love to see the trend continue!**

 **Updates will go back to being once a week-ish.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Tolkien or Jackson - just Arathell and Kara+kiddos.**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

She Talks to Angels - The Black Crowes

"She paints her eyes as black as night now  
Pulls those shades down tight  
Yeah, she gives a smile when the pain come  
The pain gonna make everything alright"

 **October 24, 3018 – Imladris**

"He is awake," Mithrandir breathed, relief pouring from his blue eyes. She gave him a smile of comfort, debating on going in to visit with the Hobbit, but deciding against it.

"I will tell Bilbo of the news. He has been worried," she said, walking into the gardens, where she knew she would find the old man.

Without the Ring in his possession, it was all too clear that the Ring's power over him was fading. Wrinkles were more firmly set and his eyes were hooded and vague. But at the mention of Frodo or an adventure, it was very easy to see that sparkle in them again.

She sat beside him, watching as his steady hand traced lines over a page in his leather bound book. His novel was almost finished, and she knew that he was proud of the work that he had done. "Your nephew is awake," she started. His hand paused, a tremor of old age running through it. "He appears to be in good health as well."

Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes. "The Valar have been merciful then," he concluded. "It would be terribly wrong to take his youthful face before my old one."

Arathell chuckled and rested her hand on his shoulder. "I am sure that was exactly what stayed their hand."

"Am I permitted to see him?" he asked, a familiar spark reaching his eyes through his smile.

She nodded and watched as he hobbled away. The other three Hobbits that had come with Frodo on this journey seemed to intercept Frodo first. She watched as Frodo danced with glee and hugged his friends on the balcony above. They were carefree, not at all worried about the future of the world, only knowing that the present had been fixed with the waking of their friend. There were many things that she thought she would give in order to attain that kind of attitude. What would it be like to have no worries? None at all? Would it be nice? Or would it be dull? She sighed, shaking her head at herself. Arathell would gladly take dullness over worry.

"The Council has finally been called," a friend commented, standing beside her and looking up at the Hobbits, still dancing in their joy. "Now that Frodo is awake, we can make sturdy plans," he carried on. "We shall convene tomorrow. And we believe that we are expecting a Man from Gondor to represent his country this evening after dinner. I hear that it is the Steward's eldest son."

"Will he take orders from you, I wonder?" she mentioned, looking over at Aragorn out of the corner of her eye. "Or will he even know that it is you he should be taking orders from? Instead of his pesky Steward father?"

"Everyone should listen to the wills of their fathers, Arathell," he breathed.

"You didn't. And I most certainly haven't. What people should listen to is the wills of their King."

"Which I am not; we have discussed this," he sighed.

Arathell shook her head in sadness and stood from her bench turning to look at him. "The Elves of Rivendell would follow you to the grave if you asked them to. And these four Hobbits you have garnered in your excursion to Bree clearly trust you with their lives, or at least Frodo's – Frodo who happens to be carrying the Ring of Power with him. It isn't your brusque tone that commands people to attention, but your blood. It is in your nature to lead and manage others. You care for people enough to wish to help them, but you are wise enough to know the limits of what you can do. How can you not see that you were made to rule?"

"I may have been made for it, but I do not wish for it," he told her.

She smiled grimly. "Then what is your purpose here, mellon, if not to rally Middle Earth to destroy the doom in the East?"

He didn't meet her gaze, only moved to stand beside her. "The Ring was Isildur's weakness. It destroyed him, and it destroyed Middle Earth. I have this same weakness of his blood is in my veins."

She chuckled. "I think that after thousands of years, the only thing of his blood that hasn't already been diluted would be his status. The past doesn't choose who we are going to be, Aragorn. Only the present can do such a thing. Whether or not this weakness resides in your blood is not the question – it is how you would use this supposed weakness to your advantage, if it exists at all. And if it doesn't, then the only question that remains is how far are you willing to go to ensure your world's safety?"

Arathell didn't wait for him to reply, walking back into her quarters.

* * *

Dinner had finally arrived and her soft grey gown swished around her in a musical sound. She could remember a time when she truly hated gowns and all of the discomfort that went along with them. She still didn't feel quite like herself in one, but wearing one gave her the opportunity to be the person her people had always wanted her to be. She could pretend that the only troubles she had were finding a suitable husband. Wearing a gown gave her a reprieve, regardless of how tiring it was to wear a mask in front of them. But she was always tired, whether with her mask or with herself.

The guest table today was very large, she noticed. Already, there were peoples from all races in her home – Men, Hobbits, Elves, and Dwarves.

One of these Dwarves had looked rather familiar to her and he recognized her straight off, bustling up to her with a scowl. "Lady Shadow," he greeted, bowing.

"Hello, Glóin," she replied with a smile. "I did not expect to see you back in Rivendell. How are you fairing?"

"We are all quite well, my lady. Erebor is safe from the claws of Smaug once more, though I hear that you have been visiting lately. It is a shame that I was never lucky enough to see you. Much of my business is conducted in Dale. I have brought my son, Gimli with me." He gestured to a robust Dwarf with heavy red hair that was barely touched with braids, and a beard that swung low. "I am afraid that he does not take kindly to Elves."

"Perhaps he will be like his father and have a change of heart?" she teased, and at that moment, another figure sidled up to her.

"I doubt that very much," Legolas said grimly. "And I believe that you, Lady Arathell, are the only Elf that Master Glóin cares for at all."

"Right you are," Glóin agreed and walked heartily away back towards his son who was talking with Bilbo.

She glared at her companion. "I have not seen him in decades and you chased him away from me." He flashed a cheeky grin which she returned with an even fiercer glare. "How are you finding your stay in Imladris?" she finally surrendered, allowing him to escort her to the dinner table. He seated her and then took a seat just across from her.

"I find it to be far less cold than my previous visit, my lady," he answered, that smug smile returning. Blast, did she hate it. "Lady Arathell does not shut herself away as rigorously as she used to. I remember when I did not see her for months, even while dwelling in her homeland with her present. But this time, she seems to be much more agreeable."

"I do not like being mocked," she growled. "And I only grace you with my presence because it is the duty of a Lady of Imladris to greet visitors and to take part in the dinner celebration. Are customs different in Mirkwood? Do you lock away your visitors into caged rooms and give them scraps of food?"

"I am sure they all eat very well now, if that is where you concern lies," he purred.

Glorfindel, Aragorn, and Arwen joined them at that time. Glorfindel took the seat on her right, taking her hand and placing a tender kiss on the back of it. Aragorn took the seat on Arathell's left, engaged in deep conversation with Arwen, who sat beside Legolas. "How was your day, my sweet?" her suitor murmured into her ear.

Legolas' company suddenly didn't seem all that dreadful. She shook her head vaguely and reached for the greens in the middle of the table. More people came and seated themselves and the volume of voices escalated with tones that could only be heard from Men and Dwarves.

The Prince and Glorfindel began discussing a matter, and with her sister and Aragorn still having their own conversation, she took the slight reprieve to look at Legolas' hands.

She had given the mystery man his chance to have his secret, but now, all she truly wanted was to know who had comforted her in that time of need. It embarrassed her greatly to know that anyone at this table could have seen her in her distraught state, but she wanted to eliminate some. Perhaps she had spoken with this mysterious man today?

Legolas' hands were lithe and with her keen eyesight, she saw the same callouses that had dug their way into his skin. How warm would those hands be, she wondered. Would they leak strength like the mystery hand had?

The evening progressed without much dark conversation, for which she was grateful. But she didn't need her gift to know that darkness was surrounding all thoughts in all minds. Her gift had vanished in the presence of the Ring and she still had not gotten it back, but her skills with observation proved accurate enough. Long stares at Frodo only confirmed the pain he was feeling. He shifted in his seat often, his hand inconspicuously darting to his shoulder every time he moved. He didn't speak much with the other guests, only gave smiles and short answers when words were directed to him. The others did not notice this turmoil, or if they did, they were just as silent as her.

After dinner, Arathell found herself walking through the halls of her home, wondering just how long she was going to have inside these walls. Imladris was not necessarily where she could feel completely at ease, but it was where she was born and raised. This place, however it had treated her in the past, was special, and she was loath to see it diminish.

The sound of clopping horseshoes pulled her from her reverie and she wandered in the direction of the stables. Lindir was still awake and took the new guest's reins, allowing him to dismount.

Lord Boromir of Gondor had arrived, if she judged his rounded shield and horn correctly.

"You are late for dinner," she called, announcing her presence. It wasn't customary for her to do such a thing very often. She liked analyzing her company before confronting them, but this man radiated difference.

Boromir looked at her and she paused in her evaluations. His hair was cropped fairly short for a Man's, not even reaching his shoulders. It was a light brown, like the wings of a thrush. He had high cheek bones that made his face sterner and more aggressive. The hints of a beard made him seem that much more masculine with literal rough edges around his jaw. But there was coolness in his grey eyes. The moonlight caught them and made them dance in her vision, and his thin lips curving into a smile prompted a grin of her own.

"I have seen Elves before, my lady," he murmured, his voice reminding her much of the liquid gold found every day in Erebor. "They used to dwell in fair Ithilien." She looked over to Lindir who was staring warily at their guest. "But I have never looked upon an Elf with beauty such as yours." Her smile grew and she looked over to him again. "I am Lord Boromir," he introduced. "And you must be Lady Lúthien."

"They reserve that title for my sister, my lord. You do not look upon who you think," she murmured, but the blush that stained her cheeks only showed that she couldn't even hide her thoughts from herself.

He shook his head and walked closer to her. His imposing figure was tall and she started, taking a step backwards. "If that is true," he continued. "Then I must be looking upon a dream. But you will have to forgive me because I do not think that my mind could have conjured a beauty like yours." She blushed again and when she looked at Lindir, he looked angry. "I would have your name, my lady."

"You are looking at Lady Shadow, my lord," Lindir answered, coming to stand up beside her. "Has Gondor remembered her name from your history?"

She glared at Lindir. "Then you may call me honored," Boromir said, drawing her gaze back to him. "I have heard of your prowess, my lady. And I have heard of your appetite to protect and defend. It is honorable and inspiring. Your bravery is legendary. If I could have but a drop of that same bravery, I do believe that we would not be in the predicament that we are now. And perhaps then we would be meeting on better terms." She smiled. "But I would like to know the true name of you."

"Lady Arathell, my lord," she said, the smile still present.

His eyes glowed with happiness. "It is a beautiful name."

"You employ the word 'beautiful' much, my lord," she teased, beginning to walk away. Lindir looked tempted to follow but she sent him another glare that warned him to stay behind.

Boromir chuckled as he caught up to her. "My vocabulary is weak, I know. I can't think of another word, for my mind is completely enraptured and therefore slow."

"If you think me beautiful, then you will find my sister breathtaking, I assure you," she said, trying her best to hide her envy. "She is the one they call Lúthien."

"Is she brave like you?"

"She is brave in matters of the heart," she replied.

"And defending our world is not a bravery of the heart?" he returned.

She stumbled in her thoughts for a moment and looked up at him. "It is late, my lord. Lindir was waiting for your arrival, and he will show you to your chambers. I bid you rest. Gondor is far from here and you must be weary from all of your traveling."

True to her ways, she left without waiting for a reply, walking quickly away from the Man. Once she was far enough away, she broke into a sprint until she reached the confines of her room. The doors closed behind her and her grin doubled in size in her privacy. The mystery of whose hands brought her comfort days ago had now become the mystery of who Lord Boromir of Gondor was. She sensed goodness in him, but without her gift, her instinct was all that she had.

* * *

 **Soooo, we finally meet Boromir! Impressions, impressions? Yes, I am purposefully making this hard for everyone. But I think it will be worth it. Keep your guesses coming and let's get to 130 reviews! I feel like we can do it!**

 **Check out the music as always and don't forget to leave a review on your way out! This particular song I deem to be Arathell's theme song. Seriously. There is not a better song that would be able to describe her. And I really want everyone to check this one out. I'm sure that the majority of you haven't looked at the music, but PLEASE LISTEN TO THIS ONE. Thanks. :)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	24. Chapter 24

**Oh, goodness, we got to 130 reviews! That is the most reviews I have gotten for a single chapter for this story! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You make me such a happy writer! Let's get to 140! And thanks as well to those who favorited and/or followed this story! Glad to have you on board for this adventure. :)**

 **Glad to see what everyone's reaction was of Boromir... you are gonna get some more of him so let me know what you think! Where is he going in this story? Is he Arathell's one and only? Will he live? Let's have some guesses! Oh, and of course... who is Mystery Male?**

 **Oh, and this chapter has some movie dialogue in it! No doubt about it now! We are in Fellowship!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Tolkien or Jackson aside from Arathell and Kara+kids and horses!**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Gotta Be Somebody - Nickelback

"Tonight, out on the street, out in the moonlight  
And dammit this feels too right, it's just like deja vu  
Me standing here with you  
So I'll be holding my breath, could this be the end  
Is it that moment when, I find the one that I'll spend forever with"

 **October 25, 3018 – Imladris**

The mornings were coming later and later in the day, the darkness creeping over the times they were supposed to be awake. It was a rather disturbing metaphor when she thought about it for too long. The hours with the sun were slowly being swallowed up by darker skies, with darker dreams.

But this morning was slightly brighter than usual, and she knew upon awakening why this was. She readied herself quickly, wearing a smoke colored dress and letting her straight hair fall as it willed around her, brushing the tops of her hips. The sleeves were loose, and she moved about the house with purpose and with elegance, keeping her brown eyes open for a Man of Gondor.

She found him speaking with Aragorn. He was touching the shards of Narsil, and she frowned, glancing at Aragorn. The sword, though he had never used it before, was his by right, and to see it in someone else's hands – a lesser Man, she figured that it would trouble him. But Aragorn's face was calm and collected as it always was.

Boromir dropped the hilt, a loud clang echoing in the chamber and he walked briskly away, not seeing her. She stepped out of her darkness to approach Aragorn, seeing Arwen intercept him. So instead, she moved to follow Boromir, finding him now standing on the balcony, watching the sun climb around the mountains.

"Good morning," she announced, coming to stand beside him.

His face lit up in recognition and he turned to look more at her and away from the glowing sun. "So I was not dreaming last night."

She shook her head and smiled. "No, my lord, you were not. Have you seen my sister?" she asked.

Boromir's face was now filled with a hazy, lovesick look that she was very used to when it came to words about her sister. Arwen already had Aragorn and to know that she was losing someone else, it only made her angrier with her sister. Arwen had to have everything. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. Her mouth opened in confusion. "I did not hear you," he simplified.

Arathell stared more carefully at him. "Is your face that way because of me?" she whispered, afraid of the answer, afraid to give herself the chance to hope.

"It must not be a very flattering face if you look upon it with such scrutiny," he mentioned with a laugh.

"No!" she blurted and then blushed. "No, it is a very nice face." Her blush deepened and she cursed herself for being so ridiculous. Arathell Duvainith did not bow to charm, and she would not start now. She schooled her features perfectly, mastering the look of indifference and stared at him with no heat in her face. "I had asked before if you have met my sister."

"Oh," he laughed. "I have seen her. She glides in her movements, like a leaf on water." Arathell nodded and looked over to the sunrise. "She is very fair indeed."

"You understand then why she is the favorite sister?" she asked lightly, hiding the envy better than she had the night before. "She is admired by everyone for her beauty. Like Lúthien was the Morning Star, my sister is the Evening Star and is said to be the only one to rival her beauty."

"And which star are you, my lady?" he murmured.

Arathell shook her head. "My name is Duvainith, my lord. I am the Dark Sister and nothing more than that." She looked into her home. "Have you eaten breakfast? Whatever provisions you carried with you on your journey, I am sure Imladris can best. Come."

* * *

Breakfast was a happier affair and she engaged Lord Boromir in many discussions, even laughing occasionally when he told stories of his upbringing. The others stared at her incredulously, as if surprised by how well she got along with the Man. Or rather, it was her family that stared at her this way. Glorfindel gave her a look that she interpreted to be hurt and she briefly regretted being so forward with Boromir. Legolas seemed amused, but there was a darkness that was hidden in his eyes that her gift would not allow her to see. Aragorn appeared to be curious, casting looks between the two, but he did not appear bothered by it either. Gandalf only gave her an all-knowing look and it burned into her eyes. Was this what he had spoken of? Was Boromir this key to all of the joyful emotions that Arathell had yet to unlock?

When her father called them to attention, her mood soured and she stood quickly. Their gathering moved to a more private location, seats already having been made available for everyone. Her father sat at the head of this meeting, with Arathell on his left.

Once everyone was settled, her father stood - the picture of calm. "Strangers from a distant land," he began, "Friends of old, you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, to this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

At the sight of the Halfling moving to the erected pedestal, her breathing accelerated. And when he placed the weapon down, she could have sworn that her heart stopped for a moment. The Ring was evil, and there was no denying that. Looks at the others all confirmed this; everyone wore faces of fear and destruction.

"So it is true," Boromir whispered in awe. Her eyes widened and she looked at the Gondorian with fear. His eyes were sealed to the Ring, looking mesmerized and unafraid. How could he not feel its desire to destroy? How could he not feel the evil seeping from it? Boromir stood, presenting to the Council. "In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark." He touched his hair, stepping closer to the Ring and she clung tighter to the armrests of her seat. "But in the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found.'" She fought the urge to glance at Aragorn, looking determinedly to see Boromir even closer to the Ring, his hand beginning to reach for it. "Isildur's Bane," he breathed.

Her father stood up abruptly, "Boromir!" he barked, but the darker words of Mithrandir echoed louder. She gasped at the dark words, recognizing them instantly as Black Speech. The sky grew dark and the earth beneath her quaked in fear. She held on desperately to her calm, closing her eyes and hiding herself from this evil.

Once Gandalf had finished, the sky beyond her eyelids lightened and she dared to open them again. Boromir looked afraid as well as everyone else in their circle. "Never before has any voice uttered that tongue here, in Imladris," her father spoke quickly, executing his power over this Council.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," Mithrandir replied, sounding suddenly tired. Her father sat back down and she reached to grab hold of his hand, steadying his anger. "For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is altogether evil."

She nodded strongly in agreement. "But it is a gift," Boromir breathed again, once more entranced by this spell the Ring put forth. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people, are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him." He was standing now, looking imploringly at her hair, begging him to understand the madness within his own head.

"You cannot wield it," Aragorn retaliated, finally making his presence known.

"None of us can," Arathell was quick to agree.

"The One Ring answers to Sauron alone," Aragorn continued. "It has no other master."

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" Boromir retorted and she swallowed, wondering if her friend would be brave enough to come into his own.

"This is no mere Ranger," Legolas interjected, standing now toe to toe with Boromir. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir looked back to Aragorn with a bewildered look. "Aragorn?" he mused. "This is Isildur's Heir?" It was a mocking comment, full of the arrogance lordship had given him.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," Legolas added powerfully.

Aragorn told him to sit back down in Sindarin and she watched with heavy eyes as the other Elf reclaimed his seat while Boromir was still proudly standing. "Gondor has no King," Boromir snapped, looking sternly at Legolas. "Gondor needs no King," he added, only now sitting back down, though some of the confidence was deflated. She gave him a small smile, noticing that he calmed slightly with her countenance.

"Aragorn is right," Mithrandir mentioned. "We cannot use it."

Elrond stood once more, a decision heavy in his eyes. "You have only one choice," he said, his words, though the opinion sounded more like a command. "The Ring must be destroyed." She sighed. Even though she already knew what her father's thoughts were going to be on the matter, the task ahead of them was not an easy one.

"What are we waiting for?" Gimli growled with his eyes fixed on the Ring. He stood and raised his axe high over his head, crashing it down on the weapon. There was a flash in her sight and she trembled. When the smoke cleared, she saw that Gimli had been thrown to the ground and his axe was shattered on the pedestal, a cool Ring sitting calmly in the epicenter.

Frodo looked hurt, his forehead pressed against his hand and his breathing labored. Bilbo beside him also looked shocked beyond belief, frozen in fear from whatever it was the Ring had done to him.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin by any craft we here possess," Elrond said, looking at the various weapons present – axes, swords, arrows, daggers. Arathell Duvainith was never accustomed to feeling helpless, in fact she often rejected the feeling entirely. But knowing with proof that Ristor, her longest friend, was defenseless against this small, conspicuous weapon made her shiver with fear. If this thing could sprout hands and sword, there would be no man that could stop it, not even Aragorn, and perhaps not even Sauron or Melkor if they chose. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this," her father continued.

"I suppose that this is all of my doing," Bilbo breathed, standing up and playing with his suspenders. "I do believe that I have yet another adventure left in these old bones, and I see that this was a problem that I created, so it is only right that I resolve the issue and fix it myself, if no one is willing. I understand you all well enough to know that you wish for me to go on this journey."

"Bilbo, my friend, we do not expect anything from you. Your story with the Ring has proven most informative, and we believe that you have played your part beautifully," Gandalf soothed. "We would never send you on another journey with a weapon as evil as this. This is a task that someone else must take upon themselves to accomplish."

The gravity of the fate of this one person hung in the air for a moment, the Valar themselves even holding their breaths, it seemed. She swallowed, feeling a sense of duty to take on this task, but the Ring had already impaired her greatly with just a short time with it. If she dared to take it many more leagues, there was no telling just what kind of effect it would have on her soul and mind. She would not play into the hand of Sauron and deliver it to him, no. No, this was not a task that she could do, no matter how good her intentions were.

"One doesn't simply walk into Mordor," Boromir mentioned with a grave voice. But she could tell from the clearness of his eyes that his thoughts were once again his own. She heaved a small sigh of relief. There was potential for him to fight this evil, and she prayed that he would be able to when the time was needed. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas snapped, standing once more. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Gimli bit back, entering the dialogue while she sat with tremors dancing in her bones. The tension was thick, even the peace of the outdoors unable to dispel it.

"And if we fail what then?" Boromir added, standing as well. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?" His voice grew.

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" Gimli continued, making a stand of his own. The other Elves stood then too, as well as the Dwarves and the Men. There was clamor everywhere and she glanced at the Ring, knowing that this argument was the effect of the poison this weapon expelled. Gandalf even stood, losing touch with his calm to engage Boromir in a furious fight. She could not distinguish words, and she looked to her father with fear.

He clasped her hand tightly, taking deep breaths that she matched to her own. On Elrond's right, she watched Aragorn do a similar thing. His hands were clenched around the armrests of his chair and he stared with a vengeance at the Ring in the middle. Or he would have if there were not others who were surrounding the pedestal. The air around her was thick with illusion and only her deep breaths reminded her that this was not real.

"I will take it!" a fair voice exclaimed and her mouth dropped open wide when she saw who had proclaimed such words. Frodo, the little Hobbit from the Shire, spoke with clarity and determination, but the fear was evident in his blue eyes. "I will take it!" he yelled again when the others did not respond. The shouts of the others quieted and they all looked at the Halfling. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he said. "Though… I do not know the way." There was now a hint of a smile on her lips as she admired him and Bilbo looked ready to burst with pride that his nephew had agreed to the adventure. Frodo was gentle, it was true, but he had already proven how strong he was to this force, and this way was perhaps the best course of action.

Gandalf nodded and walked to him. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins as long as it is yours to bear." The Wizard's heavy hand landed on his shoulder, most likely surging comfort into him.

Aragorn finally stood up and looked like the proud King that he was. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." He kneeled down in front of the Hobbit. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," Legolas added, standing beside Aragorn. She caught the Elf's gaze for a moment and she stood quite suddenly.

"I do not pretend to have much hope for this venture, Master Baggins," she murmured to him. "But I will die before I see Sauron ruling this world. You have my arm and my sword and whatever else you may ask for." Frodo nodded and she moved to stand in between Aragorn and Legolas. The Elf smiled down at her and she rolled her eyes, now looking ahead to Boromir. What would he do?

"And my axe," Gimli added without any grand speech, only standing next to the Hobbit, glaring at Legolas who seemed displeased.

Boromir met her gaze and she smiled slightly as he stepped forward, now looking at Frodo. "You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council," he met her gaze and she gave a small nod, "then Gondor will see it done."

From beyond the bushes, another Hobbit appeared, one she recognized quickly as Samwise Gamgee, the greatest friend of Frodo. This was good, she thought. He would need a friend on a journey such as this, just as Thorin had once needed Balin. "Here!" he yelled, dodging Aragorn's arm to stand on Frodo's right. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me."

"No, indeed it is highly impossible to separate you even when he is invited to a secret council and you are not," Elrond rushed, but she saw the mirth in her father's eyes.

"We're coming too!" another voice yelled and two more Halflings entered their Council. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took – Mithrandir had warned her of the mischievousness of the two cousins. "You'll have to send us off tied up in a sack to stop it."

"Anyway," one of them added, looking at her father with dominance, perhaps the only creature alive who would be able to get away with it, besides her. "You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest, thing." She smiled and heard the men around her chuckle.

"Well that rules you out, Pip," Merry teased and then she did laugh. Boromir looked at her with such a look in his eyes that she could only laugh more. Indeed all of the beings present looked at her for a moment, some with awe in their gazes and some with adoration. Never before had she truly been looked at in such a way, but there was pride in her.

"Ten companions," Elrond finally said, stopping her laughter. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring," he said with a clear ringing.

"Right," Pippin commented. "Where are we going?"

* * *

 **I figured that there was no better place to end the chapter than the ending of the first disk of Fellowship. There unfortunately aren't too many more brighter chapters ahead of us, but we still have a few!**

 **Keep your guesses coming and let's get to 140!**

 **Check out the songs as always!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hello, my lovelies! I do apologize for the slightly later update. I have just come home for my Thanksgiving break and I have been super lazy, and it has been absolutely wonderful, let me tell you! Breaks from university are the greatest things ever.**

 **In other news: Only had six reviews for this last chapter. I am thrilled, of course, but I would really love to hear from all of you! Can we get to 145 reviews? That would be awesome! Thanks to those who consistently review, and then obviously to everyone who favorites this story or follows it. It makes me super happy!**

 **Everyone also seems to be super excited for the Boromir/Arathell plot-line. And I believe one of my wonderful reviewers actually gave them their pairing names: either Borothell or Aramir. I love both, but I myself and leaning towards Borothell because Aramir could almost be construed as Boromir/Aragorn. Haha I may be vague about my pairings, but I can assure you guys that that one is not on the agenda! Haha But let me know what you think about Borothell - name or otherwise!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing in relation to Tolkien's or Jackson's works, however I do own Arathell, Kara+kiddos, and horses! :)**

 **OH AND THIS CHAPTER PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE THE LAST CHAPTER LEFT OFF! THAT IS A THING NOW!**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Undisclosed Desires - Muse

"I want to reconcile the violence in your heart  
I want to recognize your beauty is not just a mask  
I want to exorcise the demons from your past  
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart"

 _"Ten companions," Elrond finally said, stopping her laughter. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring," he said with a clear ringing._

 _"Right," Pippin commented. "Where are we going?"_

"Oh my," Legolas sighed, closing his eyes.

"Master Hobbit, I do not know if such a quest truly is for you," Gimli warned, not sounding very amused.

Arathell hastily shook her head and laid her hand on Pippin's shoulder. "If you had the experience with Hobbits as I have had, you would not be so quick to judge them about their playfulness. I daresay there is not a hardier folk than them. Not even Dwarves, Gimli."

"And how much time has this Elf spent with such races?" Gimli retorted, glaring at her.

Arathell did not take offence to him though, but it seemed that Boromir had. "You do not know who you are addressing," he growled. "She is Lady Shadow. There is not another maiden in the world who is more traveled than she, I assure you. She has spent time with all of the races, even Dwarves."

Gimli huffed and walked away, probably to find food, but she did not mind.

"I appreciate your desire to defend me, my lord, but you must know very well that I am capable of taking care of myself," she told him.

Boromir only smiled, undisturbed by her scolding and bowed to her. "You'll have to forgive me for the ways of my people, for they teach us to shelter our women and look out for them. And while you are no woman of weakness, it is only in my nature to behave in the way that I was raised, my lady."

"Well, then I suggest you quickly adapt to the customs of Imladris and realize that being a woman is no defect," she snapped. "Women are who birth the warriors and suckle them until they are strong. Women are the ones who never lose faith and persist in ways that the men cannot. Women need no sheltering; we know of everything regardless of whether you would discuss it with us or not. And you choosing not to discuss it is only a proof of men's cowardice." Boromir looked affronted by her proclamation, and the little Hobbits looked at her with something a little more than nervousness.

Only Mithrandir, Aragorn, and Legolas did not seem bothered, but this was only due to how well they knew her temperament and her thoughts regarding feminism. And they wisely remained silent after her small rant.

Arathell turned and looked at the three of them, all looking anywhere but at her. "Legolas, I would train with you," she announced. "I have trained with Aragorn recently and would like to practice archery now, and I work best when I have competition."

Legolas nodded and followed her to the training grounds. "I do not think that Lord Boromir meant any harm in his words, Arathell." His words were cautious and slow, obviously trying his hardest not to provoke any sort of anger from her.

"Lady Arathell to you," she retorted, taking out Finelleth and a red feathered arrow. She aimed steadily, easily hitting the seventh target in the distance. "And why do you care about how I treat him? You were verbally jousting him not even moments ago. I do not believe that you are in the position to lecture, Prince."

"You truly do believe yourself to be above everyone, don't you?" he surmised, making her pause and turn to look carefully at him.

"If I know I'm right, then I do not presume to care for the feelings of others to tell them they are wrong. We don't have the time anymore to pretend to be anyone other than who we are. If I want Lord Boromir to know fully that I am not a woman to be tamed like the Women of Gondor then he will know," she explained. "And I do not think it to have been presumptuous to say what I just did to you. You argue with him without being scorned, and I expect to have that same ability."

Legolas nodded, looking defeated. "I didn't mean to offend, my lady."

"You don't need to have the intention in order to be offensive," she remarked, stringing another bow to her arrow and releasing it. "Now, practice with me or be gone with yourself. I only brought you along because I do better when I compete with someone."

"Your technique is already rather perfect with the target practice. If we are going to really benefit you, I would suggest we try other techniques," he mentioned, walking to grab a small acorn that had fallen to the ground. "Shoot this," he instructed and then threw the acorn into the air.

* * *

She was positively fuming after their practice, having a strong desire to take one of the Prince's eyes and shoot at its soaring self instead of that bloody acorn. Out of the dozens of times he had thrown it, she had still missed it three times, and she hated herself for it. It was never that she was trying to impress Legolas in the first place, but she did feel more than embarrassed to know that she couldn't shoot a simple acorn from the sky. And though he had thrown it a quarter of a mile through the air, it was no excuse to her.

Perhaps that is why she did not sense another presence when she huffed angrily by the fountains. "My lady?" She spun around, looking at the pair of Hobbits at her feet. Both recoiled at the mad look that had to have been in her eyes. "Is there something that ails you?" the taller one asked.

Arathell couldn't help but soften her features at their kind looks. "And what would you do if I were to answer affirmatively?"

"We Shire folk don't normally get upset about a great many things, to be sure," Pippin supplied. "But I find that whenever we are truly angry, we often feel better when we talk about things."

She laughed and sat on the edge of the fountain. "And what would I talk about, Master Hobbit?" she inquired, raising her eyebrow.

"What I would wonder more ardently, my lady," Merry mentioned with a bright blush staining his cheeks, "is how one as fair as you could ever be angry about anything."

Arathell sighed and the smile slowly vanished from her face. "Oh, there is a great deal in this world to be saddened about. And there is even more in the world to be angry about. I have watched Sauron creep from the hole he was thrown into, and I have seen him exact his revenge on this world. I have seen his fury ransack joyful homes and I have seen his evil slit the throats of those he would deem lesser than himself. In the distance I can see the great towers of smoke that fume from his mountain, and I watch with utter helplessness as those clouds grow darker and come closer and closer. One day, I imagine, they are going to wrap around the earth and squeeze all of the happiness out until there is none left."

Both Hobbits now looked rather dismal, but Pippin cheered up quicker. "But that is why we fight, isn't it?" he asked with a bright smile. "We fight it because we don't want the happiness to go away. We fight it because it keeps the bad things away for a little longer. Isn't that why we are going on this quest?"

Arathell frowned and was about to tell the Hobbit how hopeless it was when the taller one interjected, "But, my lady, I think that the trick to this quest is to stay positive. It is hard to do so now, clearly, but it can be done. Just look at me and Pippin here. You can't give up before we have even begun. Then your bad vision will definitely come true, and that is not the quest of the Fellowship at all."

"Merry is right, miss," Pippin chirped with a nod.

She suddenly found the will to smile and reached to take both of their hands. "Are all Hobbits this cheerful, I wonder? For if they are, then I believe a visit to the Shire is long overdue. It must be wonderful to never have a worry or a fear."

"Oh, we fear a great many things," Merry replied dismayed.

"We fear the Black Riders!" Pippin squeaked.

"Yes, I heard of your journey to Rivendell. It was very brave of all of you to come all this way."

"Strider is a very good fighter," Merry remarked, Pippin nodding fiercely. "There was a fire in his eyes that night on Weathertop that I have never seen before. He was so strong in his conquests, and so determined to protect the four of us. We were so greatly outnumbered, and he fought all of them by himself and saved Frodo." They both shivered at the memory. "But even with his fighting skills, I daresay that I would not want them to have to be put into practice again. Once was quite enough for me."

"Well, I fear that that desire may not be fulfilled," another voice entered and she turned to look at Lord Boromir. "You agreed to go on this quest with us, and there will be many perils, Master Hobbits."

"We know," Merry agreed with a solemn nod. "Frodo needs his friends though."

"Friends are sometimes better than warriors," Arathell agreed, thinking of Balin and Thorin. "Warriors can keep your heart beating, but I think that it is friends who urge each other to keep living."

The Hobbits nodded in agreement with happy smiles. "May I have a word, my lady?" Boromir asked. She remained sitting and watched Merry and Pippin dismiss themselves with hearty bows that nearly reached their hairy toes. She smiled at them as they walked away from her. Once they were out of earshot, she looked back up at the Man, wishing more than anything at that moment that she could look beyond the veil that was before him. At this distance from the Ring, she could catch glimpses of the Man beneath it, but it was still tricky. From what she could see, there was goodness and bravery that triumphed in him. Goodness was such a hard trait to find in these times, especially in one who had grown amongst the evil and dark. He was a rose in a field of corpses.

"What is it you wish to tell me, my lord?" she asked keenly, hiding any emotion from her face.

Boromir sighed and gestured to sit beside her. She arched her eyebrow but nodded, moving away slightly when he did take his seat. "I would pray that you know that my words before were not meant to offend you. I understand very well your prowess in the field of war, and I have long heard of your abilities to do the unthinkable. I know that you have never let your sex define you, rather the swing of your arm, and I admire this, my lady. I think that if anyone can muster up the courage to go against the grain to do what they believe to be right, they ought to be thanked and acknowledged for their efforts. And you have had many valiant efforts, Lady. What I said was not in the want to diminish those efforts."

She nodded with a small smile. "So is this an apology for your words or an explanation; you must speak plainer, my lord."

He gave her a coy smile and leaned in close to her, and she held her breath expectantly with wide eyes. "What would you like it to be?"

"Truthful," she muttered.

Boromir chuckled and reached for her and only then did she snap from her reverie, pulling away harshly and standing to look down on him. "My lord, you say you have seen Elves in Ithilien, and yet you pretend to be ignorant of their customs. Surely, you must know how forbidden it is to touch an Elven maiden in such a way." Her hand carefully reached for her own hair, tenderly stroking it with protection.

He sighed and stood as well, standing close enough to her that her head was bent at an awkward angle. There was a gleam in his eyes that made her shiver with anticipation. "Forgive me, my lady. I had assumed that since you threw away some of these Elven customs, you would throw away but one more." He looked down at his hands and she followed his gaze. They were very large hands, the tips and palms calloused, with dirt buried too deep in them to ever be scrubbed away. "My hands are treacherous, Lady. They ache with the most inappropriate wishes."

Arathell's eyes widened and she backed away, staring at the hands. "You are much too forward, my lord, Boromir," she said. "I am not a wanton woman with such mortal desires. Your initial desire to capture the heart of an Elf is already highly unlikely. The fact that you pinpoint me to be the object of your desire only fuels this notion of madness that you no doubt are guilty of. And then you presume that you could win a heart such as mine with words such as 'treacherous hands' and 'inappropriate wishes!'"

Again Boromir laughed and stepped closer again. "I would believe your words more devoutly if your voice did not shudder so much."

"It does not quake with desire," she retorted. "It quakes with apprehension and fear, knowing that I am about to trek the world in your company."

"You profess to be afraid of me?" he purred, taking a step closer so that his nose nearly touched her hairline. The smell of crisp mountain air entered her nose and her breath was suddenly shakier. "You could kill me now if you wanted to, and I do not claim to be so arrogant to think that you wouldn't if you really wanted to. But here we stand - a hair's breadth from one another and you do not push me away."

Arathell stepped away once more, putting more distance between them. "You are right: I do not push you away, even when I know that I should." He moved to her again, but she held her hands up, keeping him away. "I would tell you this, my lord. If you are truly determined to win my affection, then you should know that my heart is not likely to settle on a Man in only one day. I will not fall in love with a Man I do not know. And already, you ask much of me to want me to fall for a Human and not one from my race. Time is short for you, I know this. But Elves are not known for acting spontaneously. You have to prove yourself to me." She curtsied to him. "I appreciate your explanation for your offensive words." His eyebrow raised and she mirrored the gesture. "You cannot expect me to not be able to tell the difference between an apology and an explanation, my lord. I have been breathing for millennia and I am wiser than you will ever be. Good day to you, I say."

She abandoned his presence quickly and walked to her room, closing the door hard behind her. Her heart was racing in her chest and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw just how flushed her cheeks were.

* * *

 **What do you guys think? A little short, I know. But the next scene was too long for me to include here. It will have to wait. But, on that note, it is rather exciting because it will mean essentially that one day will take three chapters to adequately describe! I'm not saying this will be an everyday sort of thing, but more things are being included and the story is moving along now!**

 **Any love for Borothell, anyone? What about Mystery Male? Who are we thinking is the real winner of our Arathell's heart? Oh, and how did we like our intro to lovely Merry and Pippin? I seriously love writing those two. Haha**

 **Check out the song, as always!**

 **Love, you all lots, and I hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving!**

 **Oh, and one more thing: Given that this site is accessible to everyone over the world, I just wanted to give love to everyone out there who may be struggling for whatever reason at this time. Stay safe, lovelies! And keep finding a reason to smile! :)**

 **\- LM**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hi, everyone! I apologize if this chapter seems to be coming late to you; I had to drive back to university after a much-needed Thanksgiving break. I hope all you Americans had a wonderful Turkey Day and I hope all of my international readers had a splendid day/week as well!**

 **And we made it to the 145! Let's make it to 155! Thanks, everyone! I love you all! And thanks as always, to those who favorited and followed my story! BDS has over 100 followers! Woot!**

 **And so glad to see that the lovely term Borothell is catching on! Maybe not everyone is in agreement with the ship... but it is a ship, people. And I know I have fans out there rooting for Legolas; let me know what you think their ship ought to be called. And any other ship, really! I also wanted to mention that the ship Borothell was coined by TwillinOfTheWillows! Thank you so much for your involvement from practically day one, my friend! :)**

 **This chapter picks up RIGHT AFTER the last one, so you know. Next chapter will be a new day. I promise. :) And since I love you all, it is pretty long. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. I only own Arathell, Kara+kiddos and horses!**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Something Beautiful - NEEDTOBREATHE

"Hey now, this is my desire  
Consume me like a fire, 'cause I just want something beautiful  
To touch me, I know that I'm in reach  
'Cause I am down on my knees, I'm waiting for something beautiful  
Oh, something beautiful"

 _She abandoned his presence quickly and walked to her room, closing the door hard behind her. Her heart was racing in her chest and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw just how flushed her cheeks were._

That night at dinner, she made an acute effort to not speak or even look at Lord Boromir of Gondor. She kept her attentions to Glorfindel, who looked at her with concerned gray eyes. He had asked her several times already what worries were lingering in her mind, but she could not put a name to them herself, and as such offered no real answer to his questions.

The Hobbits easily held her attention, and she watched them with a spark of joy in her soul. It was rare to see such pure souls sit at her table and they were so playful and happy that it was simply infectious. Her troubles with Boromir and Legolas were practically forgotten after ten minutes of talking to the Hobbit, Sam. He was the quietest of the five, as Bilbo sat at the table as well, but he was stout of heart. He was modest, saying nothing to honor himself, other than he was rather proficient at gardening. But apparently, all Hobbits were according to him, so he was nothing special, at least in his eyes.

"Samwise, I do believe you undermine your worth on this journey," she told him, seeing him blush all the way to the tips of his pointed ears. "I have walked this earth for thousands of years, and I can tell you with surety that there are few things that are better than a loyal friend. Frodo is very lucky to have you in his life."

"Lady Arathell is very much a believer in the powers of friendship," Legolas said gently, pouring more wine into his goblet. "But she does not have many friends herself."

Sam and the other Hobbits looked bewildered, but Bilbo stood at the table with a determined face. "You bite your tongue!" Arathell's eyes widened and everyone else at the table stared with bemusement at the headstrong Hobbit, making a stand against a Prince of Elves. "She has been one of my dearest friends for many, many years! And she is one of the few Elves who have won the friendship of the Dwarves of Erebor."

"Thank you, Bilbo," Arathell said with a smile. "But I believe that Legolas is correct. I am a rather hardened individual and I do not let many people into my life. The ones you speak of probably don't even like me. They only respect me."

"The King of Erebor is your friend, and his heirs will forever be," Bilbo rebutted. "And that is a fact that you will never be able to change, my lady!"

She chuckled and raised her goblet to him. "I shall count myself lucky to have you for a friend, Master Baggins. I do not think that there is another who would defend my solitary life as heartily as you."

The feast continued on and she looked over at Legolas and smiled nervously. "He fantasizes that I am such a benevolent person and that I have no flaws," she mentioned. "You must forgive him, but his experience with Elves has been very diverse."

"You mean to say that he will always pick your side because you did not throw his friends into cages as I did." She shrugged and took a bite of her salad. "I think that his business with the Dwarves may have left an imprint on him of their behaviors. He seems to be very good at holding a grudge."

She smirked. "Tell me of a race that would not remember their captor with some animosity and I will believe your words."

"Fair enough," he conceded.

"My lady," Glorfindel whispered into her ear and she looked up at him with a graceful smile. "The Man across the table stares at you – Lord Boromir."

"Let him stare, my lord, Glorfindel," she replied with a cheeky smile. "If he thinks that he can unnerve my dinner with fierce stares, then he will learn his worth in my eyes."

"I think he fancies himself in love with you," he argued. "And as your betrothed, I cannot like this."

"We are not betrothed, Glorfindel," she snapped, the smile gone as she looked at him. "You are my suitor and nothing else. And he has known me for but a day – he cannot love me. I most certainly do not love him."

"Do you mean this?"

"I mean both statements," she answered. "Love in that way has never been a strong area of mine and I do not truly believe that it will ever take hold of me. So he may try to garner my love, but I believe that I have none to give to him in return. His search is fruitless and he will learn this soon enough."

"Do you not love me?"

She stared into his gray eyes and touched his cheek gently with her hand. "You have been a dear friend to me, Glorfindel. You listen to my pains and you converse with me when I wish to speak. But no, I do not love you. I do not turn away from you as a suitor, because I believe that you may the only one who really could ever love something as dark as myself."

"You deserve the greatest of happiness, Arathell," he retorted, looking hurt. "If it is not with me, then I would release you from this bondage. You could not be happy with me, and I do think that I deserve to love someone who would love me as passionately as I love them." He looked away from her and pushed her hand from his face. "But as Elves only have one love in their lives, I see that I may never experience love in Arda."

"Please do not speak like this," she begged, forgetting the guests at her table. "You simply do not know true love and there is still a great hope that you will be able to find it someday soon."

"Time is running out, Arathell." She didn't have anything to say to that and only looked to her friend with a sad expression on her face. But she could see the hurt in his eyes with a potency that made her ache inside. She wished desperately that she did love him. He was a good soul and he would have stood beside her through the worst of torments, giving her encouragement and smiles all the way. But she didn't want that! And it made her so angry! "Arathell, my sweet, don't grieve for me. The Valar have long been sending me thoughts of your distance from me, and I ignored them, praying that they would be wrong. But now that they are, I have no one but to blame for my pain but myself."

"I should not have confronted you with this here," she murmured. "It's hardly proper dinner conversation."

He shook his head. "You are right about that." She looked down into her lap, catching the curious eyes of Aragorn on the way. Again he sat next to Arwen, each with hands under the cloth of the table. She was willing to bet that their fingers were entwined away from wandering eyes such as hers. "But I suspect that dinner conversations everywhere are gradually to become more grim than mere broken hearts," Glorfindel continued, and she focused back on the topic at hand.

"Is your heart broken, mellon?" she whimpered.

"I have been your suitor for many years, Duvainith," he replied and she could not help but cringe at the title he had given her. In his despair, Duvainith was all she had become to him. She was no longer the sweet that made his blood race, rather the beautifully dark sister who had squeezed his heart dry of life. "Tell me, did you think that it was possible that I was only infatuated with you?" His tone was not as gentle as before, as if the kind words before had never been uttered at all. Wishes for her happiness were no longer at the front of his mind. "Was this all a game to you?" he demanded, his voice escalating so that it caught the attention of more than just Aragorn.

"Glorfindel, may we speak of this later?" she pleaded, reaching for his hand that was tightly clasped around a dinner fork. "You agreed that this was not proper dinner conversation, and there are far too many ears for my taste." She saw Legolas scoff into his goblet.

"We are done speaking," Glorfindel snapped, standing from the table and dismissing himself. Tears welled in her brown eyes and she felt many gazes on her, but she dared not meet any of them. The most prominent was that of her father's. She could feel disappointment radiate off of him into her soul. Even on the brink of war, the matters of the heart were not to be tossed aside by the Elves, and what she had done was an act of betrayal. In the eyes of her people, she had done more than just betray her suitor, but she had betrayed the wishes of her family. There was no greater dishonor in that.

Arathell didn't wait for dismissal from her father, standing up on her own and leaving the table. Tears ran down her face now in the shelter of her privacy. Her room would be too obvious, so she avoided that room like a plague, rushing to her familiar corner. The décor of the room was not beautiful, rather quite plain, and there was no natural light that leaked into the space, making it quite undesirable to her fellow Elves. She would be safe here, or at least until her tears were spent.

Glorfindel had never held her heart in his hands, but he certainly held her pain. She still wished that she could find it in her to love him. Even now, she considered running to him and lying with a proposal of marriage on her lips. But he was wise and would see through her scheme immediately. He was not a fool, and the veil of love had been pulled from his eyes at last.

Why could he have not have seen her indifference sooner? Or rather, why could she not confer her indifference sooner? Perhaps it was because she always thought that in her heart she could learn to love him. She could learn to find a home in his willowy embrace and harmonic voice. As a fool, her hopes were dashed. It was a grim reminder to her that hope was pointless in the beginning. Hope did not bring love into her heart. And now hope would not bring victory into her Middle Earth.

With her face buried in her knees, she sobbed with this realization. She held herself close, knowing that the only sure thing that she would ever be able to count on would be herself and the reach of her arm. She could trust herself and no one else. Arathell Duvainith would die just like the rest of the world, but she would fight her death until her heart stopped.

An arm was suddenly around her shoulders, pulling her into a strong embrace. For a moment, she wondered if this was the stranger who had held her before. The hand seemed just as powerful but as she sank into the touch and pressed her ear against the steady thrumming heart, she knew instantly that this was not him. This heart beat differently. It was just as strong, like the beating of a drum, but there was no echo behind it. It conferred strength with its solitary beat, but not the whisper of magic underneath it.

Her brown, murky eyes opened to gaze into the gray gaze of Boromir. Quickly, she pulled away, wiping at her tears with a heavy hand. Now there were two people who had witnessed her weak, and she hated this. Weakness was not acceptable to her – she was Shadow, a darkness that preludes to an enemy's death. Her eyes were dark to match the darkness on her soul, leaving no light to hold onto. In a way, she was Death, as Celeborn had once called her. He had said she was the hand of Death and Legolas would not be afraid to take it if he was a true warrior.

But she was neither the hand of Death nor Shadow at the moment. In fact, she felt like water instead, never able to hold onto anything and bending at the will of the wind and crashing in on itself as a wave breaks its own body. The only shadow she displayed was the shadow of herself.

"A lady such as you should not be weeping," Boromir whispered, reaching to wipe at a tear she had missed. "I would see the fire in your eyes again. I would see the promise of brimstone in your gaze."

"I have only water to offer you at the moment, my lord," she croaked. "And I would not have you see me like this. Go back to your dinner and leave me in peace."

"I would not call your solitude peaceful, my lady. My presence alone has ceased your tears. Perhaps my words can make you smile again."

Arathell shook her head. "I have done a terrible thing, Boromir," she whispered. She looked into his gray eyes, the look imploring like he wanted to take her burden from her and rest it on his shoulders. "I have led a man to believe that I love him. And I have convinced him with my silence that I would marry him. I neither love him nor have the desire to marry him. Now his heart stings with betrayal and I am unable to mend it."

"You do not love the Elf?" he asked.

She huffed in disapproval and gave him a sour look. "There are more matters of the heart than just love, my lord. If that is all you wish to console me about then I have nothing more to say. No, I do not love Glorfindel and that is not my concern. My true concern is about what I have done to him with my silence and indifference! I care little for the notion of love and am currently more plagued by sympathy and regret!" She stood from the floor and began pacing. "Ridiculous emotions with all of their twists and turns and extensions – they cannot leave me! I would be rid of them all if I could."

He gave her a look of confusion. "But it is emotion that gives us our defenses. We build our fortresses and our walls with the intent of keep the bad things at bay. We build them not to protect what lies inside, rather who. Emotion gives us this drive to keep them all safe. How can you want to throw away a gift this powerful? What would give you the will to fight back at all if not your emotions?"

"Instinct," she retorted. "The innate desire to live and breathe gives me the will I need. And that is not what we are discussing at the moment, so I would appreciate it if you do not speak of things you do not understand."

He surrendered a nod. "You are much older than me and without a doubt wiser as well. But if it is this Lord Glorfindel who gives you cause to weep, then you can stop your crying now. He is Elf-kind and made to endure more than just heart ache."

"Clearly you are ignorant of my race," she grunted with an eye roll. "Elves die either from wounds in body or wounds in heart. Time is not our nemesis, rather pain. And I have just given him pain unimaginable. He could very well pass into Shadow because of me!"

"You are Shadow!" he barked and she paused. "If he is on this brink, as you say and his choices are Shadow and healing, then I daresay he will not choose you. For you are right: I do not know much of your race, but if pain is your kind's nemesis, then he will not choose the route of pain. He will not choose Shadow. It would give him pain."

"There are multiple kinds of Shadows in our world, Boromir and this you cannot be ignorant of."

"No, I am not. You are right once more, my lady. I also believe that in this world, there is created only one person to match our souls with," he told her in a whisper.

"What has that got to do with anything?!" she demanded in a shrill voice.

"That he did not truly love you if you did not love him back," he answered calmly. "He was not meant to love you because you did not love him back. This means that his heart cannot truly be broken and his only choice is to heal and wait for the real love to take him. He was simply infatuated with you and thought himself in love."

"You're calling into question the love of a being who is thousands of years old? Do you think that he cannot tell what real love is?" she retorted with a scoff.

Boromir remained calm and now stood, taking her hands in his. She froze at the contact but did not pull away from his grasp. "I do not think anyone can know what real love is until it has ensnared them," he whispered. "It does not matter how old you are either. Love will come to every good being in time."

Arathell thought deeply about his words, wondering if there was any truth to them. It sounded logical, but since when have emotions and logic ever agreed upon anything? It was her pure reason why she despised emotion – because it defied her logic. But regardless of the soundness of his argument, there was a dilemma that was clear. "We are almost out of time," she said. "We face our doom in the coming months. After being so infatuated with me for tens of years, do you expect him to move on quickly enough to find his real love in only months? You are completely mad if you think so. And even if we do survive this impending doom, what then? He will not stay in Middle Earth. He will go to Valinor."

"Perhaps his love awaits him there," he suggested, his body closing in on hers. She never considered herself a short woman – few Elves, if any were. But this Man was taller, and she was forced to crane her neck to continue to meet his gaze.

"How can love await someone in death?" she wondered, her voice lower with her throat constricting her voice. His eyes were quite deep, she realized, staring harder into them. They were gray – a color she saw every day of her life. But there was a twinkle there that reminded her of a star. There was a youth there that she had not seen in many years and she found herself drawn to this light. So she did not push him away as he released her hands and rested his on her hips, pulling her closer still, their noses now touching.

"The land of Aman is not a land of Death and you know it," he breathed, his breath blowing away the residue of age from her face. "The world has watched with dreary eyes as your kin leave these shores. There are few of you left, and this is certain even amongst my kin."

She blinked. "Then do you believe my love awaits me there?" she whispered.

He grinned and she looked down to his thin lips. There were few smiles that were so grand. His pearly teeth shone with another, sharper light. In the light of his star-like eyes and glistening teeth, he was beautiful. "No, I believe your love awaits you here." Before another word could escape her, his lips were pressed against hers. His lips were tender on hers, the scratching of his beard making shivers run down her spine. She sighed into his mouth, feeling it open to her. It was warm and quite full of life and again, of youth. He tasted like fresh honey, sweet but with a tang of the Wild. Her hands fell on his shoulders, pulling him into her more. It had been far too long since she had been kissed, and she had never had one that had this kind of passion before.

When Boromir pulled away, her eyes fluttered open and she touched her lips faintly, as if to trap his taste into her lips. "You are quite presumptuous," she finally stated with a deep, but shaky breath.

"Perhaps," he agreed with a cheeky smile. "But it would seem that I presume correctly."

"That remains to be seen," she replied, feeling her edge return to her. She stepped completely away from him again and smoothed her gray skirt. "A kiss with another may have guaranteed you a marriage, but it does not do so with me. As I described to Glorfindel, love and I have never accepted one another." He quirked an eyebrow, as if surprised. "You have given me much to consider, and I will need solitude in order to form a proper, unbiased opinion about it. As you can clearly see, I am no longer filled with tears and my fire has been… fanned. You have done what you have set out to do. You may go back to the others now."

He smirked and bowed low to her. "Before I go, my lady, Arathell," he paused, pronouncing her name as if it was a name of the Valar. "I would pose a question to you." Her lips parted and she cocked her head to the side, waiting. "Do you simply look the most beautiful in shadowy grays, or do you not have a dress of any other color?"

"I have many dresses, my lord, Boromir," she replied. "And they are in many different colors."

His smile grew. "Then I would much like to compare your beauty in gray to your beauty in other colors."

"Then maybe you will get what you wish and maybe you will not," she said quickly. "Good night."

She rushed to her chambers then, closing the door and smiling like a madwoman. She touched her lips again, thinking of how wonderful their connection was. Lindir had never kissed her in this way. He was always timid and weak when it came to pleasing her. But Boromir was sure of himself as he laid his claim. It actually felt like a real first kiss, filled with passion and adoration. This was what they were supposed to feel like. Well, she thought with a smirk, throwing herself onto her bed, if that was how all kisses with him would be, she would not be able to deny his affections for much longer.

* * *

 **We got some Borothell going on here! Let me know what you think about this chapter! About Borothell, Glorfindel, Hobbits, Legolas, Lindir, ANYTHING! :) And ship names!**

 **Check out the song, as always!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	27. Chapter 27

**Hello, my lovelies! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Didn't quite make it to 155, but that is okay. Let's make it to 160 though! I'm sure we can do that! We are approaching another 100th reviewer one-shot! Kind of. Little ways away. Haha**

 **So, I am updating a little early here for two reasons: I happen to have time right now and I won't have time again UNFORTUNATELY for the next two weeks. This upcoming week is Dead Week for me, and Finals Week is right after that. I am going to be super busy, and I just am not going to have the time to update. I promise as soon as they are done though, I will give you guys a chapter.**

 **To compensate: this chapter is SUPER long for you guys. I wanted to cut it, but there is no good place to do so. PLEASE REVIEW! :D**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson - jut Arathell, Kara+kiddos and horses!**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Assassin - John Mayer

"I was a killer, was the best they'd ever seen  
I'd steal your heart before you ever heard a thing  
I'm an assassin and I had a job to do  
Little did I know that girl was an assassin too"

 **October 26, 3018 – Imladris**

That morning when the first rays of sunlight trickled onto her face, she awoke with a happy smile, giggling despite her natural cold exterior. She called for the handmaiden to prepare for her a warm bath, and when she sank into those soothing waters, she felt her race heart all the more. Warmth surrounded her, much like it had yesterday evening in Boromir's embrace.

When she dried her now pine scented body, she ran to her wardrobe, searching for a dress that would make him smile that boyish toothy grin.

His smile was rather different from the Elves' she remarked thoughtfully. Elves were calm and collected beings, never fully smiling wide enough for teeth to peek out. Her brothers smiled this way, but after the long time out of their reach, she had almost forgotten the beauty of such a grin. Even now, she did not make herself completely available to all of her family and only had long-past memories of her brothers smiling.

Deciding on an emerald green dress, she brushed off the dust that adorned the shoulders. Had it really been that long since she had worn this dress? Looking at the rest of her dresses, she noticed the familiar film of dust that covered almost all of them except her grey ones. It was a miracle that her name hadn't been changed to the Grey Lady! She already knew her people's powers of casting names at each other like stones, and said a silent thanks to the Valar that they had not done so again. Shadow was preferable to the "Grey Lady."

Arathell left her room, catching the eyes of the others when she walked past. There were whispers as well, which made her legs wobble with each step. It was not that she wasn't used to words being spoken about her, but it rarely was about her wardrobe choices that their conversations would be based. It was Arwen's job to look beautiful and ensnare the hearts of their people, not her. Arathell looked fearsome and would ensnare, quite literally, the enemy.

Legolas intercepted her as she passed by the Shards of Narsil, forced to a stop when he grasped her arm. "For once, I believe you do not look like the feared Shadow of tales," he commented, appraising her with a slow nod of his head. "Quite the opposite today, if I may be so bold." She remained silent and shuffled her feet. "How often are you told of your beauty, I wonder?"

"That is not your business," she finally said, yanking her arm free. "And you may not be so bold, Legolas."

He grinned and looked to the broken sword. "A relic of a bygone age," he drawled.

"Yes, I know. I live here." She was getting tired of his games and only wanted to find Boromir and nonchalantly display her colored dress.

"Then its power no longer entices you if you can speak so shortly of it." Again she did not speak. "This sword was nothing the day Elendil grasped its hilt. It was another weapon that had already slain its fair share of Orcs and demons, even if it was forged by a highly acclaimed Dwarf. When its master perished, it finally captured the fame it deserved – the fame that it was meant for. Broken and battered, it was, and it won a war. It gives me hope, you see. Even when the night is darkest and the stars do not shine, even when death is the only gift left to give, even when it seems there is no hope left to be had, the winds can change. The outcome is predictable, for certain, but it can never be guaranteed. Maybe this Fellowship, filled with little hope, can be the shards of Narsil and win a war. Wouldn't that be remarkable, Arathell?" He looked at her with wonder in his blue eyes and she sighed with a smile. She stood next to him freely then, admiring the pieces remaining.

"Only a piece of Narsil won the sword's fame," she mentioned. "With all the other pieces broken and discarded, it was the center – the base – of it that won a war, mellon."

He looked at her curiously. "I see four pieces here that won a war. I see the blade with the sharpness and desire. There are the two mirroring spikes of hilt for balance. And lastly I see the pommel that provides the support and constancy to the others."

She smirked at him and looked to him out of the corner of her eye. "Your gift of foresight has never been very strong, Legolas."

"Neither has yours, Arathell," he murmured. "Who do you suppose is the hilt to the jagged blade? And the blade, who are they?"

"It can only be the Hobbits, I believe," she answered. He only made a huff in answer, but she didn't mind. "I should probably go."

"To find Lord Boromir or to find Lord Glorfindel?" he asked, still looking at the broken sword.

"That is none of your concern."

"Actually, I believe it is. Glorfindel may not be of the land of Mirkwood, but he is a friend nevertheless. And whatever transpired last night disturbed him greatly. I realize that you can be found in places of logic and realism and not in emotion and optimism. But that does not mean that all are like you. For some, love is the only thing that ties them to life, and you stole one of those from Glorfindel. Who is to say that the remaining may not yet be stolen?"

"He did not love me, Legolas," she disagreed, thinking firmly about Boromir's words. "If he was meant to love me, then I would have returned his love."

"Who told you a fallacy such as this?" Legolas scoffed. "Was it Lord Boromir?" She stiffened at the name. "May I remind you that he also believes that the wisest course of action would be to use the Ring? May I also remind you that it was his kin millennia ago who fell prey to the power of that thing?"

"People can be wrong about some things and right about others," she retorted.

"Without a doubt," Legolas answered. "Your sister saw him follow you after you and your suitor's dramatic exits," he said lightly. "Then again, everyone did. But she worries for you. She thinks that your heart may be in great danger of being held by him."

Arathell shook her head, but didn't meet his gaze. "If she cared so dreadfully for the safety of my heart, then why is she not here to warn me? Why are you the one who has to put forth these doubts about Boromir?"

Legolas gave her a wry stare, tilting his head to the side. "Is that question so grand that you cannot think of an answer? You have been home for months already and you have yet to say a word to her. Not to mention the fact that upon her return to Rivendell, you fled to go and stay with Dwarves! What is she to think?"

"I will not have this discussion with you," she growled.

"You do not need to," he snapped back, walking up to her with a glare. "Your jealousy is obvious enough for even Sauron to see. That is all you have ever been in your family. You are jealous of your sister's beauty and for the praise she receives from your people. You are jealous of your brothers who have the liberty to do as they choose without the glare of your father. And you are even jealous of him and all of the wisdom that he possesses and the power he exhumes over everyone. I am just as sure you are jealous of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn as well for similar reasons. You are even jealous of me because I have a throne and a father who loves me."

Arathell swallowed after his onslaught of words. "You have no idea what you are talking about. And you know nothing about Glorfindel and you know nothing about love."

"I would not be as sure as you regarding that. But fine," he growled. "Still I would implore you to at least be generous enough to speak with Glorfindel before you offer your heart to that Man. He gave you everything you could ever wish for and you humiliated him like a sore in front of every race of Middle Earth! You are nothing but a cancer to me, but to him, he thought he had found his One. You could not hold that stupid, selfish tongue of yours to discuss it with him in private. You could not even have the decency to tell him your absent feelings when he began courting you! You do not deserve what little praise you receive and you definitely do not deserve the world that your family has striven to give you."

She couldn't listen to such things anymore and without a second longer, her hand reached to slap his fiercely across the cheek. The slap resounded in the chamber, but it was not enough for her. She slapped him again and again until her open hands clenched into fists and she hit at his pretty face with everything in her being. She grabbed his sacred hair and pulled and yanked, hearing him not say a word. She wondered why he had not retaliated yet. He certainly could have and pushed her away. He could have even yelped to get the attention of someone to pull her away from him.

When her energy was spent, she glared at him. "I suppose I deserved that," he conceded, rubbing his jaw.

She didn't wait for another word, leaving him and going back to her quarters. Arathell paced in her room for a time she didn't even bother to pay attention to. As much as she wanted to trust Boromir's advice about Glorfindel, there was a mysterious twinge in her mind that said that there was something to what Legolas had said. She was furious with the Elf now, but as he had even stated: she lived in a place of logic and realism. And her hatred for him unfortunately didn't cloud his words. And there was even truth to them that she didn't dare admit to him. His words about her were harsh and cruel, but they were more or less factual. She was a jealous, selfish being, and the objects of her envy were the members of her family. The people who had raised her and given her a home had become people she resented.

It was at times like these where she would normally send for Glorfindel, knowing that he would have advice that could only be true. But after humiliating him – there was no doubt about this – she was sure that he was not going to be very receptive to her qualms. And as Legolas had mentioned, she was currently struggling with her family and did not feel comfortable talking to them. Or rather, she would like to talk to her father about it, for he had been the only one recently who she had not pushed away. But he was busy entertaining strangers from faraway places and would not appreciate being interrupted. And truthfully, he probably would already be very angry with her for humiliating Glorfindel anyway.

With a new idea in her mind, she went quickly to the training grounds, not changing into her armor. She watched with impatience as Aragorn quickly beat whoever he was sparring. He turned to her and gave her a knowing smile. "I will not spar with your when you wear gowns like that, Arathell," he said, not even panting. He walked to the side of the fence, splashing cool water on his face.

"That implies you would if I were wearing one of my regular ones," she said with an arched eyebrow. She would not have the other trainees see her distress. She was Shadow for a reason.

Aragorn merely shrugged and walked out of the arena into the woods. She followed without question. "I was wondering when you would be arriving," he began, finding an area secluded enough.

Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. "You were expecting me?"

He shrugged once more. "Who else would you talk to?"

"Who says I need to talk about anything?"

"You're here, are you not?" Arathell didn't have anything to say to that and finally let out a sigh. "Arathell, we have been friends for many years now. I think that you can trust me."

She nodded weakly. "I have always trusted you, Aragorn. But I don't –" She sighed. "I do not know where to turn anymore. I know that what I did last night with Glorfindel was wrong. I left because I knew it was wrong. And then Boromir found me and we talked and somehow he made me feel better about my predicament. And now, Legolas is angry with me because I have hurt Glorfindel at all and he believes that the words Boromir gave me were ridiculous and false!"

"What words did Boromir comfort you with?" he asked, giving her his attention as he sat down with his back against a tree trunk.

"He said that if Glorfindel was meant to love me, then I would love him in return. But I do not love him, so therefore he cannot truly love me. And this means that he can heal," she explained, pacing in front of him.

Aragorn was quiet for a long time, but she knew that he was thinking. There was never a moment when the Ranger was not thinking. "Do you love your sister?" he finally asked and she stopped pacing, staring at him with bewilderment.

She scoffed when she realized that his question was serious. "Why does everyone ask about Arwen? Arwen is not the issue here!"

"No, she is not," he agreed calmly. "But she is an example. Now answer the question. Do you love her?"

"She's my sister!" she yelled.

"Answer me," he said in that same calm voice of his.

"I am supposed to love her," she shouted again.

"But that is not the same as actually loving her, is it?"

She pursed her lips and resumed pacing. "This conversation will never reach her ears, will it?" she asked suddenly. Aragorn smiled grimly and shook his head. "Then no. No, I do not love my sister. I used to, but not anymore. Now I only harbor resentment for her."

"But she loves you. Of this there is no doubt." Arathell found it hard to agree completely with this, but she knew that if she were to disagree, then she would be prompted to explain, and that was not an argument that she wished to relive in the slightest. "She was meant to love you and is supposed to love you. But you do not love her. Why should that make her love for you not real? Her heart aches for your troubles, just as a lover's would. Now, there is also no doubt that you are not the only one to blame in this mess." She looked at him with a softer gaze, waiting. "Glorfindel is as wise as he is aged. And he should have recognized soon in his courtship that you were never going to return his feelings. I could clearly see that you did not love him. He should have freed you of your contract then. But you cannot assume you are guiltless, and I think you already know this." She nodded. "We have proved Lord Boromir's argument invalid then, haven't we?"

"You do not need to speak to me like I'm a child," she berated though with little hostility.

He smirked and stood. "Sometimes, you act like one." She opened her mouth to yell some more, especially since his words had hit a rather sensitive topic for her as that was one of the last things that she and her sister had discussed, but another question had already come from his lips. "Your conversation with Legolas was not a private one, Arathell. I have heard what he had to say to you." Now she felt shame again and looked to her feet, only to have her chin raised by a finger to look back into his eyes. "He should not have said the things he did, and I know that he regrets them."

"You spoke with him about this?" she demanded, pushing his hand away.

"Yes, I have," he replied.

She scoffed and kicked at the dirt beneath her feet. "Well, it is nice to know that he regrets saying the words, but neither he nor you will be able to convince me that he did not mean them. The venom in his eyes was proof enough that everything he said was how he truly sees me. I am not happy that he goes on this quest with us, Aragorn. He will do nothing but set my teeth on edge. I may even kill him before the Enemy does."

"He feels the same," he jested, leading the way back to the house. "Do you wear that dress for Boromir's sake? I have also heard that he is quite drawn to you."

She finally blushed and was grateful that he was two steps ahead of her so that he could not see the stain on her cheeks. "Keep a secret for me?" she said meekly, and they stopped. He turned and looked at her with skeptical eyes. "Promise me, Aragorn, or my lips are forever sealed." He sighed and then nodded. "He has kissed me. Not even twelve hours ago, he kissed me!" With a happy grin, she touched her lips again.

Aragorn carefully smiled and kept walking. "So you do wear it for him? Did he ask to see you in a more lively color today?" She didn't feel the need to answer the question. "Has he seen you in it yet?"

"No," she said.

"I am sure his breath will be quite stolen away then. But do not feel the urge to breathe it back into him. You need not be kissing a man you do not know."

"He seems good."

"He also seems to be fairly corruptible. He will bend to the way his heart sends him and may therefore be a liability to our Company, to you. Customs may not matter to him as they matter to the Elves."

She frowned, pondering his words. "Do all of you feel this way? That is the second negative opinion I have heard of him. Legolas seems to loathe him quite passionately."

Aragorn grinned. "Legolas does not know the meaning of the word." He grimaced as they reentered the training area. He looked at her fondly. "Go and find him. I am sure he is lonely, especially if your hypothesis of him being hated by all is correct. He will need a friend on this journey."

"And who will you have?" she wondered with a wry smirk. "It is not well that the King of Men should be unsociable and quiet."

"Then it is swell that I am not a King of Men, is it not?" he retorted with a smirk of his own. "But nevertheless, I will have company enough. I have traveled with the Hobbits and know Gandalf and Legolas very well. You need not worry for me, Arathell. Now go."

Arathell gave him another smile before striding back into the house. She kept her walk light, coursing through the balconies and outer nooks. She suspected that the light of the world wasn't going to be there for her enjoyment much longer, and it was something that she would need to take advantage of now before it was too late. And it was in such an area where she found Boromir.

He looked dejected from what she could tell. His shoulders were hunched as he leaned on the railing, looking at his feet instead of the world. The fists clenched around the railing were crowned with purely white knuckles, signifying whatever battle was going on in his head at the moment. She considered calling out to him, but she paused, watching him. He didn't move from the position, but it was at that moment that she could perhaps grasp the uneasiness the others felt around him. He was in mental torment and there was no need to guess about what he thought of. Even without her gift, she could see his thoughts get progressively darker. She shivered with fear as she heard him sigh – a sigh that sounded more like a snarl to her.

Deciding that now was not the best time to speak with him, she turned to take her leave when he called out to her. "Arathell!" She froze, unsure of whether she wanted to turn and looked her most current fear in the face. He seemed to sense her dilemma and walked to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Arathell pulled away instantly, but she still did not turn. He was quiet for a moment. "How long have you been standing here?"

"Long enough to know that your thoughts are most likely too dark for civil conversing, my lord," she replied hastily. "It does not matter to me. I can trade words with you at dinner."

She began to make her way back into the shelter of the house when he spoke again, "You look beautiful. Did you wear such a color for my pleasure?"

"Does it have to be about you?" she asked with a hint of playfulness. She was still turned from him and allowed herself a smile. And then suddenly he was in front of her with his big hands covering her cheeks. "This is inappropriate, my lord," she teased, pushing his hands away. "Imagine the scandal it would create in my city if someone should witness your needy touch."

"Then we must simply go to a place where such eyes will not see my needy touch," he answered easily, walking back into the house. "You know this house better than everyone. I would pray you lead us to a secluded place where I can lavish you in attention."

"That is still rather inappropriate. You are neither my husband nor my betrothed. You are not even a suitor and you wish to dishonor me?" Arathell walked into the house though, feeling her blood quicken in her veins as she thought about his lips once more. It was very wrong, and she knew this very well. But her heart was thumping too loudly in her chest for her to hear the reason her mind offered.

When they were secluded, she turned and gave him a large smile, leaning up to capture his lips with hers. She sighed at the delicious contact, feeling his strong arms wrap around her tiny body. Unlike the kiss from the previous night, she was the one to dominate this kiss, tangling her hands in his tunic and holding him to her. She explored the caverns of his mouth with determination, hearing him groan in appreciation.

She was also the one to pull away this time, both of them panting. He stared at her with lustful eyes and she grinned, proud of how she was able to make him feel. "Either Elves are perfect at everything they do, or you, my lady do not have virgin lips," he remarked, placing his forehead against hers and blowing warm air over her face.

The word snapped her out of her paradise and she pulled away to look thoughtfully at him. "Well, my lord, you are right about one of them."

He looked at her bemused, though the smile on her face was now somewhat forced. "Which one?"

"Which one, indeed," she answered. "I am sorry that I forced myself upon you. It was wrong of me, and I vow that it will not happen again."

"Oh, do not make a promise like that," he replied carelessly. "If you feel the need to force yourself on me, you will never hear a complaint from me about it, I assure you."

She nodded, but didn't take back her words. "What were you thinking about this morning, my lord? This morning your mind was far afield in a dark place."

His face clouded with grief and he looked as if he had been struck by her hand. "Is this something we truly must discuss, Arathell?"

"Lady Arathell," she corrected, swallowing hard and avoiding his stare. She folded her hands in front of her and walked a few paces from him.

She had long accepted that her womanhood was no longer pure, but with the recent developments, reality stung her more than she would have cared to admit. The Man beside her was the future Steward of Gondor, pride and honor running through that line as fiercely as they ran through hers. There was no future with such a being with her body soiled. A wife of Gondor would never be taken before her wedding night. She didn't think these things with the intention of ever becoming such a wife, but it strengthened her cause to discard him. Not to mention that he was of the race of Men. Handsome royalty, even with the blood of Númenor, he would die someday. A life with him would be not even a tenth of her lifespan.

With all of these reasons in her mind, she knew that she could no longer look at the Man with romantic inclinations. She could never again feel those lips on hers or have his arms hold her tight. A romance that was still in the womb of uncertainty was now going through the pains of a stillbirth. Nothing could be done about this. And she was determined to let nothing be done about it either.

"You have yet to tell me, my lord," she said tightly, looking at the green that donned her arms. Part of her was tempted to run to her quarters and sink into her grey gowns, or better yet: her armor. That would keep her focused and strong.

She heard him sigh behind her. "I have done something to offend you."

"Do not speak to me as if you are my equal, my lord. My family houses races among Middle Earth and I would have my questions answered when I ask them. If you have any gratitude for the kindness my family gives you, you will answer me now," she retorted with a snap. The warrior's mask was falling into places around her features, hardening her mind and her blasted emotions.

"I see no kindness here," he grunted. "Tell me at least my crime before exacting punishment."

"You would consider punishment telling me your thoughts?" she snapped, now feeling truly offended.

"I consider punishment to be this sudden treatment of me. You just gave me the most wonderful kiss I have ever had in my life, and now you are the perfect picture of ice," he shouted.

She scoffed and turned, looking at him. "This is who I am!"

"No, it is not!"

"And how would you know?" she regarded. "My personality has been this way since before your father's father was born! You have known me for not even a week and proclaim to know who I am and who I am not?" He looked abashed and fumbled over his words for a moment. "I may look youthful and spry, but I have seen this world hundreds of times over. I am an Elf! You are Mortal! What can you know of me and my attitudes? Now tell me what you were thinking this morning!"

"Why do you care to know?" His voice was lower than before, as if he was surrendering like he had when he agreed to take part in the Fellowship.

She blinked and stared hard up at him. "I am about to embark on a journey with you where one or both of us could not come out alive. One thing that I am sure you have not grasped about me yet is that I am a rather selfish creature. And if whatever you were brooding over should put my life in danger, then I would want to be prepared for it. You are asking me to trust you – a Man I do not know. So yes, I will have your thoughts because they could very well be the difference between this mission succeeding and failing. It could mean the death of one of our own or the death of the world. Tell me now!"

Boromir's teeth grinded together and she could see how he pondered her words. "I am not selfish." She was taken aback by such words and stared with confusion, waiting for him to elaborate. "I care for my people. I would gladly lay down my life if I knew that it would save them. And they are many. You may have walked this earth for millennia and have seen things that I could not begin to imagine, but I have had this evil breathing down my neck since my birth. Outside of my bedchamber, I can see the smoke from that mountain billowing into the air, reaching toward my home like a black hand, ready to squeeze the life out of us. Every day I rouse myself and I see the fear take hold on their faces. The old grow older with weariness and the young grow younger with innocence. The able bodied walk outside of our gates, wondering if they could have loved their wives more or bought more toys for their children. They walk without a hint of hope, facing their fate like the brave of old. But even the brave have fear. And the women, how they weep! Their tears flood the streets and their wails drown out the trumpets. I am not selfish. I know of the evil that Sauron is capable of. Osgiliath has just been reclaimed by my people but for how long can I hold it? Every day this evil grows stronger. This Ring, however evil it is, is the only beacon of hope I can see. The clouds of Mordor have veiled my vision to see anything other than my city's eventual destruction. The Ring is evil, but I would not keep it. I would employ it to bring Sauron to his knees, destroying all of the evils with this weapon. When the Enemy is destroyed, I would destroy the Ring at last, and then my people would laugh and sing again."

"The Ring has corrupted your mind! You cannot see it, Boromir! You would not be able to destroy the Ring!" she exclaimed. "It wants to go back to Sauron and the longer it stays in this earth the longer it has to find its way back! We must destroy it."

"Or you are the ones who are corrupted by it," he growled and she froze, fearful of him again. There was a gleam in his eye that was not at all the youth that she had found attractive. There was a sickness, plain as day. "Maybe the Ring knows that this is your goal and wants you to bring it all the way to Mordor, ready to hand over to the Dark Lord. It fears my plan, because it would never be able to reach Mordor with Sauron still alive."

She stepped up closer to him, glaring at him angrily. "It was not an Elf that could not throw the Ring into the fire, my lord," she growled low.

"And it was not a Man that could not give the final push. _My lady,"_ he snapped back. She swallowed, watching him retreat back into the shadows. Arathell hastily wrapped her arms around her midsection, keeping her fear contained. That gleam frightened her, and there not many things that she was frightened of to begin with. There had ever been only one other thing that had held her fixated with fear before: the Witch King of Angmar. He was the only enemy she had ever faced and not killed and she was faced with a reminder every day with the long scar that was slashed across her chest. Not many knew of this injury; in fact the only people who did know were her brothers and her father. Arwen did not even know, nor did Aragorn.

But this gleam in Boromir's eyes gave her fear. And her fear did not just bloom because of the inevitable amount of time she would spend with him in the coming months. It was an example of how the Ring worked, and that frightened her. She could see so strongly that Boromir was a good man with a good heart. And she would be forced to watch that goodness be erased, replaced by something darker like greed and anger. The transition was already happening, and he hadn't even been exposed to the Ring for more than an hour at most at a time. What would this thing do to this Son of Gondor?

Arathell didn't want to find out.

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 **There it is! Responses on Borothell or anything else? Mystery Male anyone? H still exists!**

 **Check out the song as always! And let's get to 160!**

 **Please, please, please review! And I will see you all in a couple weeks! Good luck on finals/projects/papers everyone!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hi there, everyone! Thanks so much for waiting for me! Finals are done, and I can resume my postings! Yay!**

 **Not gonna lie - little sad about how few people reviewed for that last chapter. I thought for sure that you guys would have something to say about the break up. But no worries! I am not disheartened, and I would never keep chapters from you for that. To my faithful reviewers, THANK YOU, and to the new ones that come along, WELCOME! Please never hesitate to leave more! 3 And THANK YOU ALSO to everyone who favorited and followed this story! You all make me so happy!**

 **So, new day! Yay! Please let me know what you think! :D**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien's works or Jackson's portrayals. I only own Arathell, Kara+kiddos and horses!**

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Part Three - We Barely Make It

Watch Over You - Alter Bridge

"I tried to carry you  
And make you whole  
But it was never enough  
I must go"

 **November 17, 3018 – Imladris**

After her final kiss with Lord Boromir, Arathell had done everything in her power to seclude herself from his presence. She would eat in her room, with Sam most often. The fat Hobbit had become a quick friend to her, and she enjoyed his company thoroughly. He was a gardener, she had learned, and after that, she had taken him on a tour through her own gardens, watching his face light up in recognition and in awe. It was at times like these where she was able to laugh. In fact, Arathell found it difficult to believe that one could be sad around such a race.

Other times, during training, she would spend time with Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn. She and the Ranger were determined to make fighters out of the little tricksters. They were clumsy on their hairy feet and held the little swords awkwardly, but each day, there was improvement, be it very little.

But it was in the earliest hours of the morning where she would sit with Bilbo and Frodo. Occasionally, Bilbo would speak, telling repeated stories of his tales with the Dwarves. His mind was rather sick now; the loss of the Ring taking its toll on him at last. He would stare at the drawings in his book, tracing outlines of the maps, his finger settling most often on a tall, solitary peak off to the East, with a red dragon hovered over it. He thought of the Lonely Mountain quite often, and she had offered more than once to take him there. In truth, she wanted to return to her daughter and her family again, and any excuse to go would have been good enough for her. But Bilbo would shake his head and rock on the bench, saying that his feet were too old and his heart too faint. She wondered if this was the stubbornness and original fear that Gandalf had contended with all of those years ago. Maybe now it was the pull of the Ring that stayed his wanderlust.

But all of the other times, they would be quiet, looking over the expanse of her domain. She knew that the darkness was coming. The Black Hand that Boromir had spoken of was reaching for her mind, and she had to fight it away often. Elves were too flimsy, in this regard, she supposed. They were not so terrible at being resilient against the evils of the world, but the mental battle would forever be a strain on her. So that was why she sat there morning after morning. The brightness of the sun, climbing over the mountains and setting the golden trees on picturesque fire helped her fight this Hand. She would wonder often how long she would have with this bright light before all of it would be gone. Would she have a year? Would she have a month?

It was the small remainder of time left out of each day that she would practice training her own skills. Legolas would continually help her with her archery until she was able to master shooting the acorns from the sky. Then the game intensified. He would bind acorns to the trunks of trees, never letting her see where. With the sap of the trees, they would stick, and he would return to her, telling her to not only shoot the acorn, but to locate it without ever leaving the spot. It trained her eyes better, he would say. She still preferred her sword over everything, but her bond with her precious Finelleth had grown drastically over the short time period. She felt even more confident when she ran her hand along the bow, feeling the strength buried in the wood. She appreciated it far more than she used to.

Sometimes, she would spar with Aragorn. His comment months ago of her weakening form had sparked her desire to fight harder and move faster. Everyone would come and watch such an event, knowing that the only person who would ever be able to beat either would be the other. Even Boromir would come out of his room to watch, always with a mesmerized look on his face, she noticed. Arathell would parry and twirl with huffs and pants, sweat always clinging to the roots of her hair. They were more careful with each other now though, knowing that it would not do well to have broken bones when they'd leave Imladris. She had beaten him once, tying their score at four.

"I win!" she cried when she had him pinned to a tree with the tip of Ristor. He only let out a groan and shoved away her sword. He didn't smile at her triumph, but she clearly saw the playfulness in his gray eyes. She had almost grown accustomed to such a look, for he wore it every time she beat him. Arathell was sure though that she had a similar face when he would beat her.

"Yes, my lady, you win," he groaned, touching his scruffy neck to collect a dab of blood from where she had nicked him. "You skill has returned."

"It never left," she teased. "I see Ristor has left you with another rip in your skin."

"You cannot pretend that my ranger sword did not carve into you, Arathell," he remarked, reaching to grab her forearm, which has a nasty slice that almost went to the bone. Even with the promise not to seriously maim one another, he had made his mark anyway, as he always did. But this was not a cut she was grievously concerned about; it would heal long before the company would depart from Imladris. "You should go to the healer and have it stitched, Arathell."

She shrugged and brushed away a sticky piece of hair from her face. "I can wait." They finally turned to their audience, everyone still looking incredibly impressed, even Legolas. The only one to ever really watch all of their duels was Glorfindel, and he had become a rather reserved person since she had made her declaration to him. She had yet to speak with him about her feelings and his, but she knew that time was running out and it was something that would need to be done before they would leave. He deserved an explanation from her, and she admitted willingly that she was being rather cowardly about the situation. Arathell was at a loss for words and did not know the best way to even broach the subject with him without hurting him more. She had never been extremely sentimental, and in this circumstance, this was a great disadvantage to her.

"You fought for an hour!" Sam yelped when they approached, his face red.

"We have had many longer fights than that, Master Gamgee," Aragorn replied. "And most of them, neither of us can claim victory."

"Most of them?" Pippin squeaked.

"Aye, that was only the fourth time I have ever bested him," Arathell mentioned.

"And how many times have you beaten the lady?" Boromir asked. Never once since their argument had he said her name, not even in a way of formality, and she could not deny that it stung her.

"Four," Aragorn said briskly, also seeming to have recognized the jab at her. "We have always teetered on the leading champion, have we not?" She nodded in reply.

"How often do you train?" Merry now inquired, fascinated.

"We have been training for several decades now," Arathell told him. "And we have had almost two hundred duels, and only eight times out of these duels have either of us won."

"One hundred eighty-seven," Aragorn corrected. "I was the first victor."

Arathell could help but chuckle at his antics. "I have held the longest lead: seventeen years in comparison to your fifteen."

"The two of you have dueled for seventeen years without a victor?" Boromir drawled.

"She was gone away for nine years," Legolas interrupted, looking at them with a spark in his eye. "Perhaps it was not a fair lead?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I never went to her in Erebor to practice, so the lead is fair."

"You went to Erebor?" Gimli asked in wonder.

Arathell smiled down at the Dwarf and left the training grounds with him, an arm around his shoulders. "Your Lady Princess Kara Calemes is my foster daughter. Surely you know that she was raised here in Rivendell until your father and his company swept her away to be with her people. I was away for nine years visiting her and her family, Prince Kili and her three children, Glorsha, Thorent, and Arabiff."

"We had heard rumors of your presence there, my lady, but I was never fortunate enough to see you there," he commented. Her friendship with Gimli had started out already rather peacefully. His father, Glóin had been a friend to her, and Gimli thought that he could trust her, if his father did. He and Legolas were another matter entirely, though she suspected that their animosity to each other was becoming rather forced now. It wouldn't be long before they would be as just as good of friends as she and the Dwarf lord were, perhaps even better since she had established connections with the others within their Fellowship.

"Yes, you were mostly in Dale, were you not?" she questioned. "Have you seen Erebor from the inside, Gimli?" He happily nodded his head and adopted quite a pleased look on his face as he no doubt thought of the magnificent home. "It is a most wonderful cavernous home. I love rich green stone of the walls that glimmer without the need of sunlight. The floors dance with shimmering gold even without feet dancing on them. And the sound of tinkering resounds like an intricate song through the mountain. I love the hustle and bustle everywhere, as Dwarves laugh and sing with their deep voices to balance the high clanging of axes on rock. It is an easy home to fall in love with."

"You speak so fondly of it," Gimli spoke, awed. "There are not many Elves who would profess to love a Dwarven home."

"I am not like many Elves, Gimli," she teased. "I think that there is beauty that can be found in all crevices of the world, just so long as you know where to look. Elves prefer the outdoors and settlements that are given to them by the Valar. I have found that the Dwarves find the earth beneath their feet just as beautiful, and that in itself is beautiful."

Gimli looked baffled by her words and bowed low to her, making her chuckle. "Never before have I met one of your race that has said such things about my people. It is told in the early tales of our arrival to Arda that the Firstborn were charged with the need to belittle and quarrel often with the Dwarves. We were born without any impression but that we were treated as such a lesser being that we deserved no right to this world. And of course, our people are rather stubborn and proud, and therefore, we did not hesitate to retaliate with our own forms of animosity. But to hear such words from an Elf has brought me great joy. Have you traveled to many lands, my lady?"

Arathell smiled. "I am almost three thousand years old – there are few places in this world where I have not ventured. But I am sure that my knowledge of such places must be very limited. Perhaps you know of more Dwarven caverns than I do."

"You have been to the heart of Dwarven culture, my lady. There is nothing that I could supply that would be able to capture your love like that place."

"I would not be so sure of this," she remarked. "Beauty is not always in grandeur. Sometimes, it can be in the simpler things."

"Do you truly believe so?"

Arathell paused, considering it. She thought of Arwen and the beauty that was attributed to her, and how her sister's beauty was not considered simple or subtle. Her being was extravagant and magnificent, nothing compared to how her own beauty was spoken of. In fact, Arathell did not often hear words of her appearance as long as her sister was present, or if she did, they would always be words of pity. So she stared at the Dwarf determined. "I believe that beauty can be found in anything if you look for it enough."

"A swell answer, my lady."

"Arathell?" She turned quickly to meet the gray eyes of one she did not particularly desire to see. Nevertheless, she looked back to Gimli and gestured that he should take his leave, which he did so with a hard stare at her new visitor. "May I speak with you?"

She nodded and found a bench, taking a seat and refusing to look at him. "What do you wish to speak about, Lord Glorfindel?" she asked tiredly.

"You need not address me so formally. We have known one another long enough that titles are not needed. At least they are not needed when speaking to me. Are they needed for when I speak to you?"

She shook her head and looked into her lap where her hands were folded. "I stand by what I told you before. You have always been a very dear friend to me and friends do not use titles to speak to their friends."

Glorfindel released a hint of a smile, but she could see the pain written on his face so clearly that she could have sworn that she felt it too. "You seem to get along well with the Fellowship," he began. "There is even rumor that Arathell Duvainith may no longer be alone in this world."

At this, her eyes fell closed and reached for his hand. "I have never been alone as long as you have been there, mellon."

"But how often have you allowed me to be there?" he retorted. "And we both know that that was not the kind of alone that I was describing."

"Well, then I do not know what you are talking about. I have known Aragorn for all of his life. I have hated Legolas for all of his life. I cannot very well fall in love with a Dwarf or a set of Hobbits. And I would never be able to give my heart to a Man, knowing that he will die before I ever really have time to spend with him," she told him passionately, though her words came out in struggled bursts when she spoke of Boromir.

"In any case, I suppose that that is not what I wished to speak to you about. My true concerns are my dealings with you. For tens of years, you allowed me to believe that it would be you and I." Arathell once more refused to meet his gaze, feeling the hurt seeping from him again. "I must admit that it was wrong of me to pursue you when I so clearly saw the signs of your indifference. Maybe I thought that there was hope for us, as you have always been a rather independent elleth. It is not custom for Lady Arathell of Rivendell to do things that she does not want to do. So there must have been a reason that you continued to allow me to court you. And then there would be those precious times when you would grace me with your smile. I could have sworn that the stars of Varda would not have been able to compare to such brightness. At moments like those, I could really believe that you could love me as I love you. Or should I say loved? You will have to forgive me; my feelings are still undefinable. My heart races by being near you, but I cannot tell if this is because I am anxious or because I still love you."

She cringed at the word. "What about me is begging for your love? I am Shadow! I am not a being that was built for love. I am an Elf without hope or love and still, you profess to love me. You should not. I have already broken you once; please do not make me break you again."

"I do not know why I feel or felt the way that I do or did," he said slowly. "But what has been done is done. I cannot take back my feelings towards you, and I should not even want to. Love is a gift from the Valar and I would not be so bold as to deny a gift from them. And this is a rather heady gift, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded and held his hand tightly. "You cannot know how much I wish that the Valar had given me such a gift as well, Glorfindel. You are wonderful and you are everything that a woman could ever desire in her life. You are kind and strong and wise and you listen to those who speak with you. I hate myself for hurting you like this. I wish that I did love you."

"That brings me joy to hear you say that," he declared, giving her hand a squeeze.

She sighed and thought of the words that Boromir had said to her about Glorfindel's love for her. He believed that it wasn't real because she did not love him in return. And if she was meant to love him, then she surely would. But she did not. So Boromir's reasoning had been that he was never meant to love her at all. In retrospect, she still wondered if this theory was true, but there was a nagging in her mind saying that it was complete nonsense. Mara had shown her easily that there were many different brands of love. It came in many forms, like parenthood, brotherhood, children's love for their parents, love for the world, love for a people, and love for a soul – a soul mate. Granted, Glorfindel's love did not stem from any of these, which made her wonder if there was another type of love that she simply did not know the name of. As Aragorn had told her, Arwen loved her, but she did not love her in return. It seemed possible. It even seemed likely.

"But I do not love you," she told him firmly. "And while I had similar thoughts as you as to possibly one day loving you, I do not have those thoughts anymore. I do not know where my future leads, but I know that I could never love you in the way that you want me to. And that is perhaps a good thing, because I am not someone you would want to love. I would cause you more grief than happiness, and of this, I am certain."

"I am certain as well," he told her with a sad smile.

She returned it and looked at their hands. "Do you think that we have always been right to say that Elves can only love one individual in their lives?" she asked suddenly. Boromir had also mentioned the possibility that Glorfindel's love could already be waiting for him in Aman. And perhaps this was true. She had never heard news from Aman – it was impossible to. Maybe they knew things about their race that those on Middle Earth were currently ignorant of. "We do not know much about Aman, asides from the fact that it is where all Elves are destined to go at the ends of their lives here on Arda. What if there is knowledge there that we do not know? What if it is possible to love more than one individual? What if it is possible still that there is someone there in Aman who really deserves to have your love and will give you love in return?"

"Arathell, I do not know anything about that, but I am not very hopeful," he said. "But if that is true, then that gives me hope. And it is the custom of Elves to have hope."

Arathell blinked, knowing very well that she did not have such a thing. Maybe that meant that she was not really Elf-kind. It hurt to think a thing like that, but in all actually, she was not purely Elf. The line of Men had entwined with hers more than once. She and her siblings were all Half- Elven. She had the inevitable choice before her of which race she would commit herself to. All her life, she had been so firmly decided that she would commit to the Elven line, like her family, but after hearing words like this from Glorfindel, she wondered if that was really her destiny. Was she really created to be Elf? Or was she created for Man? She didn't know, but being as drawn as she was to Boromir, she supposed it was possible.

But he had already come too close to her secret. She was not a maiden – her womanhood had been taken centuries – millennia ago. What would a Steward of Gondor think of her when she was unable to provide proof of innocence?

She let out a shaky sigh. "I suppose it is," she told him with a smile.

He met her gaze and returned her smile, reaching to cup her cheek. "I wish you happiness, Duvainith. That is all that I can wish anymore. I think that I will take your advice. I will go to the Gray Havens and then to Valinor. I will be with my long lost kin and maybe I will meet the elleth I was meant to be with."

"It sounds like a good plan, Glorfindel," she said. "When will you be leaving then?"

"I suppose, I will stay until you depart." She started at the answer and pulled away, looking worriedly at him. "I have no expectations for love to bloom from you in such a short span, but if I am to depart this world and never return, then I would spend as much time as possible with a friend. That is what we are. We are friends. And whether you would have it or not, know that I will miss you when I depart."

She grinned then in relief. "I will miss you, mellon."

"That is good, indeed," he sighed, pressing a light kiss to her forehead before standing from the bench and looking down at her. "Out of platonic curiosity, where are the rumors starting from?" She gave him a confused look. "Why are people saying that you are not likely to be alone anymore?"

"The people of Imladris are quite fond of gossip, mellon nin," she said irritably. She met his smirk with a steely gaze that warned him. "I do not know why they say the things they do about my romantic life."

"Gossip or no, Elves are rather well-known for their gift of foresight," Glorfindel commented. "Perhaps they see a future with you and one in your company? It would not be very surprising. Traumatic experiences tend to bond people to one another. You will be forced to trust these people to help keep you alive and you will have enough experiences that you will be drawn to each all the more. You will be the only ones who will understand each other. There is something to that."

"Are you saying that your gift of foresight has suggested this?" she asked coolly, keeping a steady eye on him. Glorfindel, while exceedingly wise and strong had never been fully capable of guarding his face as well as he should be able to.

Glorfindel shrugged. "The Hobbits say that Elves give answers to questions in answers of both no and yes."

"You like proving them right then, I see," she replied, but she saw the flicker in his gray eyes. There was affirmation in those orbs. He would not tell her who; this was rather obvious. And she did not want to know. But she already suspected that it was Boromir. It frightened her that she could be spending her life with the Man. It didn't happen ordinarily, and her father would not be happy with her choices. But if he could accept Arwen being joined to Aragorn, then she supposed that he would accept her decision, should she ever decide to make it. If she were asked to forgo her immortality at that moment, there was no doubt that she would refuse. But it was as Glorfindel had said. Experiences like the one she about to embark on could change that answer.

He only gave her a cheeky smile and walked gracefully away, leaving her to her thoughts once more.

* * *

 **So, there it is! What does everyone think? I know that everyone was curious to see where she and Glorfindel ended up, so I hope that that has satisfied your nerves!**

 **And what are we thinking about Boromir? Mystery Male? Hobbits? Gimli? Anyone? Haha, let me know!**

 **And check out the song as always! This one is a good one!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	29. Chapter 29

**Hello, all! Thanks to those who reviewed and thanks to those who favorited and followed! I was thinking just a few days ago that we are beginning to close in on 200 reviews! And just so everyone is aware: the 200th reviewer will get a one-shot dedicated to them. It can be about whatever you want to see happen within this fandom. It doesn't have to include Arathell; it can be canon or not. Whatever you want. Just no slash and no smut. I don't write that. But we are only 36 reviews away, so let's get there, everyone! :)**

 **I'm very intrigued to see how you all like this particular chapter. I have gotten some very interesting reviews about some things and your reactions to this, I'm sure, are going to be priceless. Remember: most of this is already written, so all of your wishes, while THOROUGHLY enjoying to read and thrive off of, cannot all be granted because it has already been written. :) Everything will turn out as it needs to, I promise. I reread this story ALL the time to make sure it comes together as it should.**

 **Long chapter today, so yay!**

 **Oh, and I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. I own Arathell, Kara+kiddos, and horses however!**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Familiar Taste Of Poison - Halestorm

"I breathe you in again just to feel you  
Underneath my skin, holding on to  
The sweet escape is always laced with a familiar taste of poison"

 **December 16, 3018 – Imladris**

Arathell was weary when she returned to Imladris, the sight of the falls brightening her mind only a little. Her horse was just as tired. It was at moments like this where she deeply missed Daeroch. He had been too magnificent for any rider, but he had allowed her to ride with him. They had been a unit since his birth, and with the blessing of the Elves, was granted long life, but not eternal.

Faerdhinen, her Silent Spirit, she thought had been named rather aptly. This horse, a mare, was gentle, but there was perseverance in her soul. Maybe that was why Arathell struggled to connect deeply with her. This horse simply was hopeful. But she was trustworthy and did not turn her head away from a challenge – the only great similarity between rider and horse. Faerdhinen executed her duties with hope, while Arathell just executed them.

She could remember complaining to Elrond about the horse when he picked the mare for her. Arathell, still bearing her gift at the time, could see easily into the soul of the animal and knew that they were not a match for each other. But Elrond had insisted, saying that it Faerdhinen would be her rock and would never fail to give her hope, something that Arathell was in dire need of.

She squirmed in the saddle, hearing her mount continue to trot on. The horse really was silent, which was another trait that Arathell supposed she could admire. But it was nothing like Daeroch. Daeroch was filled with personality and most likely would have huffed in annoyance if she had just adjusted herself the way she just did on him. He had always hated her squirming.

When they reached the stables, she dismounted and absentmindedly stroked the neck of the mare. Her brothers looked just as tired on their great grey stallions. But their mounts were fierce and proud, walking with honor to their stables to begin munching casually on the oats already prepared for them. Their grey pelts glistened with sweat, and the servants approached with water and brushes.

Arathell looked back to Faerdhinen. She was smaller than her brothers' horses. And her pelt was not grey and was not black either, like Daeroch was. No, she was a pure white mare, dirt clinging to her flanks from the long journey. Her eyes were a deep brown, practically black. She _looked_ like a symbol of hope.

"It will not do well to discourage the mare so, Sister," Elrohir scolded. She turned and looked at him as he removed his riding gear from his horse, taking the brushes and water to cleanse his horse. "She is your companion and has agreed to carry your burdened shoulders. You should be grateful to her and should shower her with praise."

"We cannot bond," she said simply, removing her saddle and setting it aside. "She is as silent as the grave and will not confer any thoughts with me to bond over. And she is not Daeroch."

"Daeroch has gone to the Valar," Elladan said briskly. "Faerdhinen is your mount now. She will never be able to do what is truly best for you if you cannot bond with her."

She clenched her teeth and began washing her animal down. She reached into the discarded saddle bag, withdrawing some oats and offered it to her. Daeroch had liked carrots. Faerdhinen liked oats.

Arathell suspected that her brothers continued to talk to her about her inappropriate behavior with the horse, but she paid them no mind. While connecting with her horse was difficult, she found it even more difficult to connect with her brothers. They used to be so close. She could remember the first time they left Imladris as if it was yesterday. She had been so happy for them to come home and they had given her such happy smiles. But this was no more. They looked at her with abandon, like she was lost.

She could still see them sometimes when they spoke with Arwen. They were happy and joking when around her – playful. Those three were still close. But Arathell was not included in those jokes and games. Nor did she want to be. Or at least that was what she told herself. But when they looked at her, all they saw was the argument that ended their friendships. They hadn't even been directly involved! But they had taken Arwen's side in the matter, calling her too dark and too cruel to be their family.

After the decades since the fight, they were slowly allowing themselves to talk to her again, but it was only to scold her for some misdoing or other.

They continued talking, but she looked into Faerdhinen's eyes. They were calm and steady, so unlike the fire in her brown eyes at that moment. The mare's breathing was even, blowing warm air across Arathell's face, like a drying wind. Arathell sighed, taking a deep breath and feeling her heart rate slow. At that moment, Faerdhinen let out a playful whinny, catching everyone in the stable off guard. Arathell couldn't help but grin at the animal, reaching up to play with her ears. Arathell laughed merrily, feeling some strength left in her yet.

"It seems that we both can agree on how annoying the two of you are," she commented with mirth, turning to give her brothers a wry smile, one that neither of them returned. But it didn't matter so much now, and she returned to cleaning Faerdhinen, whispering sweet words into her ears and getting little huffs occasionally.

Once she was finished, she placed a gentle kiss on her nose and left the stables, leaving her brothers to continue cleaning their much bigger animals.

She walked inside of the house, wondering how long she could postpone changing into proper ladylike clothing. Arathell walked surely to her father's study, finding Elrond and Gandalf discussing something. "Perhaps the Fellowship will bring him to his senses," she heard her father say before she announced her presence.

"Father." Her elders turned quickly to look at her. "I wanted to inform you that our journey was safe." She glanced warily at Mithrandir. Her father had made it quite clear that the details of their scout were to be only reported to him, and not even their destination was allowed to be disclosed.

Gandalf seemed to sense this, taking a small bow before leaving, no doubt to check on the Hobbits. "You have told our kin in Lórien of this impending quest?"

She nodded. "Grandfather had already foreseen it, apparently. But he was unclear of the details, which my brothers explained to him while I had counsel with Lady Galadriel. She is faring well, but it is evident that the power of her own ring is starting to mass in all of the current commotion. Nenya is displeased and is causing grief."

Elrond stared at her with a hard jaw. "How long have you known of Nenya? She cloaks it with her light, Arathell. That was not meant for you to see."

She shrugged. "When my gift was still present, I knew she had such a ring the moment I first met her, Father. But take heart; I have told no one, not even my own kin that I know of it. But I knew that you knew. It would be inconceivable for you not to, especially since you carry the ring, Vilya." His eyes widened. "You carry the mightiest of the Three, the Ring of Air, and Mithrandir carries Narya, the Ring of Fire."

Elrond sighed, displeased, but he did not say anything further about Nenya or the other rings she had commented on. "You say that Galadriel is grieving?" he asked.

"I worry that she is beginning to lose hope, Father," she confirmed, her brothers entering the study then. "She is merely tired from all of her years in Middle Earth, I suspect." Her eyes told her father though that it was this Nenya that was fatiguing her grandmother. "Grandmother always spoke of the days when Middle Earth would need her help. It is her belief that these are those very days."

Her father nodded. "But they know that the Fellowship is likely to go through their woods?" he asked.

Elrohir came up beside her and nodded. "They know that it is likely. And they will try to be receptive if it comes to their doorstep. Already, they are massing their people by their borders."

"Father, why did you have Elrohir and I take our sister with us?" Elladan suddenly asked, and she looked up at him with confusion. He didn't meet her gaze and it stung.

"I am present for this conversation, Brother. If you wished to know the answer to such a demeaning question, you should at least have the courtesy for me to be away so that I may not be stung by your words or your tone." Elladan looked sheepish, but still didn't look at her. "I see no reason why Father would not have me go along with you on this journey," she continued. "Quite frankly, I wonder why we would take care to be so secretive about it. There has always been the possibility that we will go through those woods."

"But having you along to talk to our kin about it solidifies that whatever road you are looking to take currently is not the road you will actually be taking," Elrohir mentioned lightly. "Father and Lord Celeborn have clearly seen that something will affect your path and will cause you to reroute yourselves. It is not well for people to know their own futures so intimately, Duvainith."

Arathell frowned at the name. "Then why would the Valar bless a number of the Firstborn with the gift of foresight if we were not meant to know our fates?" she rounded, glaring at her brother. "Elves are gifted with the very least visions. Nothing they are given can greatly impact our futures."

"You do not have foresight," Elrohir retorted. "If the Valar wanted you to know personally, they would have given you such a vision."

"The Valar did want me to know!" she snapped. "The sent such a vision to our father and our father has told me about it." Elrohir looked like he was about to retort, but she stopped him suddenly, "Are you questioning the judgment of Lord Elrond?" He silenced at this and she smirked. "But the matter still stands," she drawled, looking at Elladan. "My brothers are both much crueler than I could have imagined. You have become even more proficient in causing people pain, Brothers. " The words were familiar in her mind, words that her own sister had spoken to her in the presence of her brothers. It seemed only right that she confront her family with the same words that they had so harshly thrown at her. Maybe then they would see that she was not the only one who was outspoken. Maybe they would see that she was not the only one who knew how to be cruel.

Their faces probably had the worth of all of the precious gems hidden beneath the earth and all of the light of Valar combined. She didn't wait to hear a retort from either of them, turning her back and leaving the way she came. She hurried back to her chambers, finding a warm bath already prepared for her. As she sank into the comfortable waters, her mind traveled away to her horse in its stable. Maybe there was something more to the animal than she had originally given her credit for. She was named for her silence, and yet she had been rather vocal while Arathell had been washing her down.

Faerdhinen would never be able to replace Daeroch, but Arathell could no longer hold her new mount in contempt. Faerdhinen was young and not used to her yet. If the world wasn't as doomed as it was, Arathell was almost positive that she and the mare would have been able to bond wonderfully.

When she donned her grey gown, her mind then thought of Boromir. She hadn't seen the Gondorian in almost a month, and there was a part of her that had actually missed him. He would have wished for her to wear a different color other than grey; she was sure. But he did not understand; grey was her signature – it was her color. Her name was Shadow, not Vivacity.

Arathell wondered how he was faring in her home. He had said before that he had seen her kin in Ithilien, but she was confident that he had never really had contact with them before. This was a great change for him, and he had no one to take comfort in. If she wasn't so committed to distancing herself from him, she supposed that he would be who she would want to see first.

But as she thought about it more, Glorfindel's words from weeks ago spoke to her: she was about to embark on a journey with this Man. And it would not do well to not be acquainted with who was going to be in her company. She needed to know him better, and it was silly to try to avoid him when she was going to be quartered away with him and eight other people.

With this decision in mind, she left her room, walking to the balcony where she had seen him so angry before, thinking that it was as good a place as any to start her search. She was pleased when she saw him there, staring out over the woods. His shoulders were not hunched, and his back muscles did not look tense; it was a good sign. "My lord?" she asked quietly. What would she say to him? She hadn't had a proper conversation with him for months and she was attempting to speak with him as if no time had elapsed. Then there was the matter of the two kisses she had shared with him.

With all of these thoughts in her head, she realized just how awful of an idea this all was, and was about to turn away and go back to her room. "My lady?" The words froze her to the spot and she looked into his steel gaze, trying to evaluate him. He looked more shocked than anything, but if his word choice meant anything, then it was just as clear that she had not been forgiven by him.

"How are you?" she asked lamely with a blush rising to her cheeks, but she fought it, continuing to stare into his eyes, daring him.

"There have been worse times," he acknowledged. She nodded and slowly walked to stand next to him, staring into the woods. For a moment, she saw Arwen, the lightness of her white dress glimmering. Her two brothers were trailing after her, and she could tell that all three were talking, but she could not hear their words. "And how are you? You have been gone from Rivendell for a time, yes?"

"Yes, I have," she replied. "I am sorry, my lord, I am not permitted to speak of it. The details of it are solely for my father's ears."

"And you have reported to him then, these details?"

She nodded once. "I suspect that the Fellowship will be making its journey soon. The longer we linger in Imladris, the stronger Lord Sauron becomes. In all honesty, I think I would have preferred to leave weeks ago, but the Wraiths have made our exits difficult. Do you know any word about them?"

Boromir huffed. "Aragorn has brought back his reports. It would seem that eight, black horses were found dead scattered in the shallows of the Bruinen. However, there is no sign of the Nazgûl. Mithrandir believes that they are scattered and ultimately have no choice but to turn back to Sauron." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I do not suppose the Dark Lord will be very forgiving."

Arathell smirked smugly. "Yes, it not something I would be likely to be happy about. Frodo was stabbed by Angmar, and then they all let him fly away in the company of a Man and three Hobbits, only to then be intercepted by an Elf. They failed their master."

"Thank the Valar they have done so," Boromir clipped. "Otherwise, this would be over before it'd begun."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, watching to see if his body would tense up at talk of the Ring. Arathell knew that he could be influenced by its power and therefore could be corrupted, as Men have been before. But she was determined to fight for his sanity, even if he wouldn't. Again, her hope of keeping him was little, but she owed it to him to try. He stayed calm beside her though, his eyes fixed on her unabashedly. "How much hope do you have for this venture, my lord?" she questioned, keeping the question light, even with the subject being dark and ill.

He scoffed, and she felt his eyes travel over her lithe body as she leaned against the balcony railing. She may have not been forgiven, but that did not prevent him lusting after her, it seemed. "I give it to many, but I do not keep any for myself, truthfully. Are you in need of hope?"

Arathell tilted her head to the side, looking back at her sister, the beacon of hope and light. "Do you see my sister there, in the distance?" she asked him, not taking her eyes off of her kin.

Boromir seemed stunned by the question, but settled to lean on the railing beside her. "I have found in my time here that it is difficult to not see Lady Arwen. She radiates not only light, but hope and love. I see her in the woods now. She looks as if she glides over the fallen leaves of autumn."

Her lips pursed in the answer. "My sister is the beacon for hope in my family. The others carry little for themselves, but I carry even less. People say that while in her presence, they feel motivated to do anything. They all believe that they can accomplish such tasks as well. People do not think this way while in my presence." The last words she uttered were in a whisper, but she still did not allow her weakness to show. She would not have Boromir know the true depths of her resentment for her sister.

"No, I would not think so," Boromir agreed and she harshly looked up at him. She had argued with him before, to be sure, but she had not been ready to have her shortcomings proven. It didn't seem lordly for him to agree with her, and she wasn't sure how she liked his honesty. On one hand, she had always been rather frank with people and cared little for their feelings, so she appreciated that there was another who could do that for her. However, her own feelings at that time were fragile to begin with after her discussion with the twins and she wasn't sure how much longer her constitution would be able to take such a battering. She was already weary from her brothers and she certainly didn't approach Boromir to be berated more. "But you offer something different for everyone here." The words caught her off guard and she met his eyes with confusion that she didn't bother to hide from him. "You offer orders and you demand control." Again, she looked at him with confusion. "People are lost here, never knowing what it is that they need to be doing. But with you present, they relax a little. You tell them what they need to do, and I think it brings them comfort to know that they are not the ones who have to be in charge."

She considered this, unsure of how she should interpret it. It sounded like a compliment coming from his lips, but she wished that there was something more to his answer. It made her feel nice to know that her men respected her position as much as they did, considering that she was a woman as well, it was an honor. But there was a part of her that knew that she wanted more from them than just respect. They could be ordered to follow her to their deaths, but they would willingly follow Arwen without needing such an order.

But it was better than nothing, she figured. "Thank you," she said, flashing a small smile. "Is that the way Gondorians look at you when you march from city to city? Or do they look at you as they look at Arwen?"

He chuckled at her side and tentatively reached for her hand. Just as tentatively, she allowed him to take it. He heaved a sigh of what she believed to be relief. "I do not know," he answered. "It seems strange to me to talk about how my people consider me. I like to think that they approve of my leadership, and I have not been provided evidence that has proved contrary to that. But their thoughts are their own, and I cannot tell."

She arched an eyebrow at him curiously. "Yet you see clearly how the people here look at their leaders," she pointed out.

"I am an unbiased party, able to see everything, my lady," he said simply. "I am quite biased when it comes to me. It is only natural to only see the bad things or only the good things about how people perceive me. It is very hard to see both."

"And how do you see things then? Do you see them liking or disliking you?"

He shrugged. "I see them liking me," he admitted with a sly grin. "But that does not mean that my reputation is not torn to shreds when I cannot hear."

His words evoked a genuine, wide, smile out of her. When he didn't say anything, she looked up at him, her smile still plastered on her face. He looked dumbstruck, and his cool grey eyes were darkening. Before she had the chance to question him, his arms were around her waist pulling her against him. His lips molded themselves to hers in desperate movements, little groans pouring from his mouth into hers. All of the wisdom she prided herself on was stripped away in his arms, and she found herself returning the kiss with as much vigor as he had. With her hair wrapped around her left shoulder, she didn't push him away when his hands moved across her back in possessive holds and grabs. She held onto his shoulder, her nails digging into the leather of his coat. If it had not been there, she was confident she would have been able to draw blood from his pliant skin. Her other hand was tightly entwined in his tunic before it snuck under it and rubbed small pieces of his chest. His mouth devoured hers, but she pushed back until they were inside of the house once more, his back against a sturdy column. Their pants and moans were echoed in the chamber, but she couldn't think of anything except the feeling of his lips on hers. Aside from the fact that he was truly the cornered one, the way his head bent to meet hers and the way his arms held her, made hers the one who felt more trapped. And she loved it.

She wasn't sure how long it lasted like that, angry teeth biting at gnawed lips and tongues licking the wounds clean. At one point, she was sure she had tasted blood, but she did not know whose it was. All she knew was that they fought over who would lap it, both wanting to bring the other into them more. Arathell couldn't breathe, but she was loath to break this moment – she needed his rough touch; she needed his anger as much as he probably needed hers.

When a throat cleared, she groaned, keeping her eyes closed as they pulled away. Only then did she feel like her senses were coming back to her, and she was almost afraid of whoever it was going to be when she opened her eyes. The fact that they were caught was enough to make her terrified. After the few kisses that she had shared with him, she was surprised to feel such a strong need to be close to him. She was drawn to his darkness as much as he was probably drawn to hers. But if whoever had caught them decided to turn them in to her father, or if it _was_ her father, then either she or Boromir would be thrown from this quest. Most likely it would be her, as Boromir needed to make his way back to his homeland anyway.

So when she did open her eyes, she couldn't stop the tiny grin from forming that Boromir had kept his eyes as tightly squeezed shut as she had. She turned her head to the intruder and gasped out a laugh when she saw who it was. "Sam!" she barked. "It's you!"

"Of course it's me," he grumbled, looking upset and then guilty, "my lady," he finished. "Master Elrond would not be happy with you, I'd wager, if he knew what the two of you have been up to. It's not at all proper for a maiden like yourself to be… to be like this with a Man."

She nodded her head, but still smiled. "I know," she agreed, "which is why I'm begging you to not tell anyone about what you just saw." Sam looked hesitant and glared at Boromir who seemed to be finding keeping a straight face too difficult to maintain. "Please, mellon nin!" she begged, quitting Boromir's arms and kneeling down in front of the gardener. "I cannot tell you how it has happened, for I do not know either, but it has. And I do not regret it for the tiniest fraction of time." She didn't need to look back to already know that Boromir didn't regret their kissing either. He had instigated it, after all. "My father would send him away from me, and I could not bear that, not now. Please, you must keep this a secret for me."

"You're Lord Elrond's daughter!" he exclaimed. "What would happen if he learned of your connection, and then learned that I was hiding this from him?! Maybe you do not realize this, but your father is the last person I would want to anger."

"No, Master Gamgee, the last person you should want to anger would be me," she rebutted, giving him a stern look. "I have come to see you as my friend, Sam." Sam didn't look at her, focusing on the marble floors. "And friends must be loyal to one another. This, you know already."

"I don't like it. I don't like it one bit, Thellie," he muttered. She smiled at the nickname. The Hobbits had taken to calling her it before, but it still meant something far greater to her than any other name she had been given in her lifetime. This name was born out of pure affection. It had no meaning whatsoever. It was a name where she didn't have to be a Lady of Imladris like when she was Arathell. She didn't have to be a fierce huntress and murderer like when she was Shadow. And the greatest thing was that she didn't have to be Arwen's beautifully dark sister, with a name like Duvainith.

"This quest we are to go on," she murmured in a softer voice. "We must learn to trust one another with all of our possessions. That includes our lives. Loyalty has never been so needed before now, and we should not start this journey off with already someone distrusting another. I know that what you just saw was not nearly on such a scale as the safety of lives, but it is important to me – to us – nonetheless. Please, Sam. I am begging you not to tell a soul about this. It will not be well for anyone."

Sam stared at her with a scowl but eventually nodded. "You have my word, Thellie." He walked over to Boromir and she hid her smile as he glared up at the Man. "I swear that if you hurt her on any counts, it'll be more than just this secret I'll be serving to everyone. And by that, I mean that your head could very well be on a dinner plate. Lady Arathell is not to be mistreated!" Boromir nodded hastily and Sam straightened out his vest and left the chamber with his head held high on his stout body.

She couldn't help but laugh when Sam was out of earshot. She met Boromir's gaze and saw her merriment reflected in his eyes. After her laughter had subsided, she smiled up at him. "There are not many people in this world that can make me laugh like Sam does," she told him. "His heart is as stout as his body. But you need not fear from him. He will not reveal our secret. For he is truthfully one of the most loyal I have ever come across. But I believe that Hobbits are a very loyal people."

"Do you always take care to explain your laughter to whoever is in your company, my lady?" Boromir asked, and she saw the tease in his gaze.

She held her chin high, unaffected by his words. "My name is Arathell," she told him. "And I believe that it has been far too long since I have heard my name fall from your lips, Boromir," she finished with a flash of arrogance. Calling him by his given name was not a capability that just anyone could lay claim to having. Only family members were given pure permission, and others had to earn it. By saying his name to him now, she tested him. All of their future as more than friends fell on this one response that he would give her.

"Arathell Duvainith, you have bewitched me body and soul," he murmured passionately, and she grinned with even more pride than before. She could ignore his mishap of saying her full name, but he would learn. She knew that he would.

She rose from her still kneeling position on the floor and marched to him, tracing the contours of his tunic and the red patterns that adorned it. "Many would not deem it wise to tell his lady of her hold over him as you have done. For now I know that you will do whatever I wish. Men do not relinquish power of their women."

"Are you that, Arathell?" he breathed into her hair. "Are you my lady and my woman?"

Her eyebrow rose on its own, and it was her smugness that kept the blush from staining her cheeks. "That remains to be seen. A wise woman never reveals her hand until she knows for certain she has won. As etiquette demands: behind the smile of a woman, there always lies a secret."

"I surrender now. You have won," he said brusquely, taking hold her forearms tightly.

With ease, she pulled herself out of his grasp and walked a few paces away. "I will see you at dinner."

* * *

 **There it is! I hope that you all are still enjoying this! Keep the predictions coming as to what is going to happen with Borothell or with any other pairing you can think of! I know that I have been pretty light on the romance so far with this story, but stick with me - we are getting soooo close to all of the romance.**

 **Will Borothell last? Or will Mystery Male come in for the kill? And who is Mystery Male? Let me know what you are thinking!**

 **Check out the music as always!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	30. Chapter 30

**Hello, hello everyone! I hope that everyone had a Happy New Year and I hope that it continues to be a joyful 2016!**

 **I am loving all of the reviews I am getting about Borothell! Please keep them coming! And my other lovely friend, maple12 has created the wonderful ship title Legathell! This does not mean that this is what is actually going to happen but for all of you Legolas/Arathell shippers, I think this is a good name!**

 **Also, I forgot to mention last chapter, there was a Pride and Prejudice quote that I forgot to pay homage to. Anyone want to take a stab as to what it was? Obviously I do not own that.**

 **Also remember that 200th reviewer gets a one-shot so let's get to 200 reviews! Contest details can be found in Chapter 29 and another chapter earlier on. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I won nothing affiliated with Professor Tolkien or Jackson. I only own Arathell, Kara+kiddos and horses!**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Falling Fast - Avril Lavigne

"I'm falling fast  
I hope this lasts  
I'm falling hard for you  
I say "let's take a chance"  
Take it while we can  
I know you feel it too"

 **December 18, 3018 – Imladris**

Her father sat tall and erected in his chair at the head of the table, looking relaxed, but firm. His air of superiority over the others present was obvious, and a smile flickered on her face for a moment as she thought about where she could have inherited her own superiority. Was that how her face looked when she commanded such respect? But regardless of how much power he balanced in his outstretched hands, his eyes told her a different story completely. Arathell suspected that she was the only one who could see it, save perhaps Aragorn and Mithrandir. His eyes looked weary and exhausted. He even looked beaten.

Her eyes moved throughout the rest of the company present. Her father had called a council with the Fellowship, all of them sitting around the table. She, herself, sat on the right hand side of her father, and without hesitation, she reached to take hold of his empty hand, surging as much strength in her grip as she could. His shoulders tightened a little and he squeezed her hand back, and she knew that her efforts were rewarded.

Mithrandir sat on the other side of Elrond, his hands folded peacefully on the tabletop. There was no uneasiness in his eyes, only a clear blue that seemed relaxed. Surely, he already knew what her father wanted to discuss. They had probably organized this council together even. The two of them had been in such close collaboration as of late, words in hushed tones behind closed doors...

Next to the Grey Wizard was Frodo, who wore a constant grimace, though it was obvious that he was trying to hide it from his companions. But every time he moved, whether to slouch further into his chair or to correct his posture, that grimace came back in full force. She wondered briefly how the wound on his shoulder was healing and if that could be a possible cause for such a grimace. But the way his eyes would never set too long on one thing said that the grimace was in place for quite another reason.

At Frodo's left was Sam who sat as tall as he could amongst the Big Folk. His head was held high as he met any gaze that was cast to him. He calmly met her stare, lips pursed in a way that stretched out the skin on his cheek and puckered the corners of his mouth. He was the picture of business, exuding enough strength for both he and Frodo combined. Maybe that was his intention.

Next to him was Gimli the Dwarf. He was rather quiet – not to say that the others did not hold their tongues, but his silence was a deep, entrenched silence. His breathing made stray strands of his beard dance, but it was steady and strong. With his hands perched on the top of his battle axe, he looked like a statue of Erebor. He was proud, blinking only when necessary and looking straight ahead at nothing in particular.

Then there was Boromir. His shoulders were hunched again, and he looked down at the table, his shoulders rising and falling shakily with each struggled breath he took. She could guess very well what the cause of his pain was. Frodo had the Ring with him. She could feel it too – potent and dark. She tried not to think about it, focusing back on the Man. How she wished she could look into his eyes or be able to soothe his nerves from across the table. Though there wasn't a great deal of distance between them, he sat the farthest away and he felt even farther than that.

Across from him on her side of the table were Merry and Pippin. They were the picture of childhood, happy and carefree. They laughed together at secret jokes and paid no heed to what was going around them. Occasionally, she could hear a snicker come from Pippin when Merry would say something funny. She learned quickly that out of the two, Merry was the dominant one – the leader and the one to take care of young Pippin. She could only hope that neither of them would lose each other on this quest. They could not bear it.

Beside them was a stoic looking Legolas. His hands were in his lap and he stared faithfully at Elrond, waiting for the council to come to order. She had always been able to see the royalty in him. She still despised Mirkwood and all that it stood for, but she could see the pride he carried for his homeland. True, Mirkwood was a dangerous place now, but it was still his home, and she could at least respect his loyalty to it. It was a loyalty she could see now, as his fingers idly traced memorized patterns on his tunic sleeve with love and tenderness.

Then, to her right was Aragorn, the last of their company. His shoulders were slightly hunched, not as much as Boromir's but the weight of the world was evident in his sitting way. Other than that, the command he held over this council was almost as grand as her father's. It was a King's gift, she figured. His eyes scanned each in their company as she had been doing and she waited with a hint of a smile for him to evaluate her.

Her grin widened when their eyes locked and she bowed her head slightly. He returned the gesture without a word and then looked back to Elrond, a man he had long considered a father to him. She knew that he could see the crinkles in her father's eyes. He could see the way that Elrond had forsaken hope. He did not show it that way, but she could tell that her father lacked almost as much faith in their world as she did. She had always been more like her father than like her mother. It was Arwen who had inherited the grace and hope of the Elves of Lothlórien.

"Silence!" barked Gandalf, Merry and Pippin quieting at an instant, trying to mimic everyone's grave expressions. "Lord Elrond and I have been discussing our eventual journey. We have sent scouts to trace the outskirts of Rivendell for signs of the Nazgûl." He looked at Aragorn and her.

"It would seem that they have cleared the roads for the time being," Aragorn acknowledged. "At least they leave no signs of being in the area I was assigned."

She shook her head and looked at everyone else. "My brothers and I have found nothing but a clear path. The roads are temporarily safe."

Elrond nodded and leaned forward in his chair, commanding attention from the Fellowship. "I have shared counsel with Gandalf and we both are of the belief that your time in Imladris is drawing to a close. Middle Earth needs you to go about what you have said to do. We have decided that you should leave in one week's time. We believe that with this information, you will have ample time to prepare and assemble the things you wish to take with you. Bear in mind that this quest is not meant to be leisurely. You are the last hope for the peoples of Middle Earth. You must be quick and you cannot be seen, so do not pack heavily."

"Lord Elrond will supply our company with some provisions, but we should be comfortable with acquiring our own food," Gandalf added. "Simple sets of clothing appropriate for the road and weapons. I do not see why there should be more things than that."

"Perhaps a meaningful trinket or two cannot hurt, as long as they stay concealed and small," Aragorn said as an afterthought, and he glanced down the table to someone.

Arathell nodded in agreement. "If there is nothing else?" she asked, standing from her seat. Her father shook his head and allowed them all to disperse.

When a harsh hand grabbed hold of her arm, a low growl assembled in her throat as she was pulled backward. Legolas' eyes met hers, and she saw the anger buried within them. "Did you see him?"

The growl fell from her throat and she looked at him with confusion. "I was the only woman present, Legolas. You have to be more specific than that."

"Boromir!" he snapped. "Could you not see just how easily he is affected by this Ring?"

"And why do you confront me about it?" she retorted. "I am not Boromir and I cannot control him! There is no need to be so cruel with me when there is nothing that I can do about it!"

"We both know that that is a lie," he rushed and she froze with a swallow. "Lord Boromir has made no effort to disguise his attraction towards you. It is a dangerous path to mingle with one such as him, Arathell."

"Lady –" she began to correct.

"I don't care, Duvainith!" he yelled, giving her a light shove. "The only point I try to make with you now is that he is falling to the power of the Ring already, before we have even left Rivendell. I do not know what you can expect from him out in the open country where we have no one but one another. He will be engulfed by its power before long, and you are too blind to see it." She didn't say a word but didn't stop herself from glaring. "I know of your gift, Duvainith." She fought the flinch at the sound of her name again. "And I also know that it has been taken from you because of this Ring." His voice was softer now, filled with sympathy, though she wondered why he would care so much about it. He did not have a gift as she did. He did not know how it felt to be stripped of it either. Constantly, she felt naked without her ability, and she had to compensate any way she knew how. She observed people harder, watched every mannerism, hoping it would unlock some door to their minds. "A gift from the Valar is one of the greatest blessings that can be bestowed upon an Elf. You were fortunate to receive one at all. I cannot imagine the struggle you feel."

"It is a great struggle," she conceded, "because I cannot see why you would care so much about a gift that does not concern you."

He chuckled airily. "Your perception of how many people worry for you is too little, Arathell," he murmured. "You would have an army fighting your inner demons in an instant if you would only ask it of them."

"I do not ask for help," she reminded rudely.

He smiled grimly. "Yes, this is something we know about you rather well." He blinked and the unknown emotion was gone from his eyes. "But my concern stands regardless. We know of Boromir's infatuation and we do not blame him for it either. But we know that his mind is lesser than what you deserve, Arathell. He is being taken by it even now when you do not see him. I do not know how much hope there is for his mind's clarity, but there is some still left. I would like to ask that you keep away from him. But as I know that you would never take my counsel or anyone else's for the matter, I would plead that if you insist on remaining at his side…" he stopped and sighed, kicking the floor under his feet. "If you insist then please try to help him fight the Ring. We cannot afford to have a liability like this in the Fellowship, and I am surprised that your father and Gandalf are permitting him to join the Fellowship at all. He must have a purpose that I do not yet see. You could use his infatuation to your advantage. Though I would not prefer that, it is an option."

She smiled then and gave him a mischievous look. "And you are not worried that I could become infatuated with him?" she remarked playfully. The fire was gone from his eyes and she thought it was strange. His eyes were calm, blue like the ocean with the whites of his eyes smashing into the vibrant blue like waves colliding. No, he was never a fire, but he was a hurricane.

He rolled those blue eyes. "You are wiser than that, I would hope, mellon," he purred, taking her hand and placing a kiss on the back of it before departing.

She stood there transfixed, watching him disappear around a corner. He said he hoped she was wiser than that. Was Boromir that awful that her wisdom would be called into question if she should fall for him? She didn't appreciate such a notion, but it made her wonder. Legolas had said that she was too blind to see Boromir's pain and only his infatuation. She already knew that he was false when he said such a thing. She saw his pain and she saw the cloud growing in his mind. And who was the 'we' he had been referring to? Who was he conversing with?

But Legolas was right about one thing. She would never agree to leave Boromir's side. Arathell had already tried something like that, but it was folly. She was drawn to the Man in ways that she didn't even know, and maybe that was where she was truly blind. But she would stay beside Boromir now until either the Valar took him or until they took her. She wasn't sure anymore that she would be able to resist him now. He had asked her before if she was his lady and woman and she had used her common cheek to retort to the question. But now, after being around him and feeding off of his darkness, she was becoming more accustomed to the idea of forsaking her grace. If they survived this, and she really wasn't confident that they would, she had decided that she would bind herself to him. It was her choice, and she was sure that Arwen had already done something similar to Aragorn.

Her clarity caught her quite off guard now that she considered it. She had just admitted to wanting to bind herself to him, to a Man. She rarely considered her the idea of forgoing her immortality. Her father had told her and her siblings that there would be a day where she had to choose her race. It was a rare opportunity, he had said. But for years, she did not see a choice other than to stay Elven. Nevertheless, she held onto her answer for as long as she could. And she was both glad and saddened about it. She could have Boromir and have him for the rest of her life. But now she was practically committed to that, and she didn't like the idea of not having that choice. It was a rare opportunity, like her father had said, but it was an opportunity she wished she never had.

She looked to the sky, knowing that the Valar were looking at her at that moment, waiting to hear an answer from her. She could not take it back – whatever answer she gave. Either she remained as she was and lived to see the white shores of Valinor, or she rewrote her entire makeup, becoming a Man's property, but living with a love unequaled.

But was that what this was? Did she love Boromir? She did not know. At that moment though, she could have sworn to feel the breath of the Valar down her neck, waiting for her reply. "I do not know!" she yelled to them, her hands clenching into fists. "I do not have an answer! Not yet!"

"Whatever could you have an answer for?" a voice said with amusement. She swiveled and met the gaze of Boromir, the source of all of her confusion. He didn't seem to notice her anxiety and desperation, only giving her a large smile that briefly made her forget her problems even existed. He reached for her hand and subconsciously, she offered it to him, letting him pull her to some secret place.

They were outside and deep within the forest of Imladris. She scoffed, wondering if he was simply looking for a specific place or rather just a remote one. "Close your eyes," he whispered.

She gave him a dubious look. "Wherever you plan to take me, I'm sure I've seen it before. I have lived here for millennia, remember?"

"Do you recognize where we are?" he rounded and she glared at him playfully before shutting her eyes. With a sudden movement, she was hoisted into the air and held tightly against something hard and strong. Her eyes sprung open in an instant, only to feel his arms under her legs and her body against his firm chest. "I told you to close your eyes, melda."

Her eyes widened at the words and she clung to his tunic. "Ma istat quet' Eldarin?" she whispered with baited breath, wondering if he would respond to her question. Could he speak Quenya? It wasn't the language she was born speaking; her native tongue was Sindarin, but she knew the language as well as her own. It meant a lot to know that he was intelligent enough to know the languages of her people. She could teach him Sindarin.

"Ná, melda," he whispered to her. "Istan quet' eldalambë."

Her grin widened as she understood him. "You speak it with a Gondorian dialect."

"I should hope so," he teased.

"How do you know the language?" she asked.

"Melda, I am a Gondorian lord," he reminded with a wry grin that made her roll her eyes. "It is customary for lords of my stature to learn more than just how to wield a sword."

"You speak an outdated language then, lord," she teased. "Quenya has not been used for millennia in every day conversation. Whoever told you it was necessary to learn it was rather mistaken."

Boromir shrugged. "The people of Gondor revere this language. All of our kings and queens are named in such a tongue. It would be a shameful thing to not know the intricacies of the language."

"But it is no longer spoken," she said again. "It was even banned by the King of the Sindar after hundreds of his men were slaughtered just so that the Quenya could trek across the sea to Middle Earth. And you name your royalty with names like this?"

"It is an almighty language, Arathell," he replied easily. "It was a language revered before Sindarin came into use. Truthfully, it probably did not need banning in order to go extinct. Your people used Sindarin easier than they used Quenya and so it was already practically abandoned when it became forbidden."

"Can you speak Sindarin?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I was never a very good student," he said sheepishly. "That was always the charge of my little brother, Faramir. He is fluent in both Quenya and Sindarin." She stayed quiet and then remembered where exactly she was. She felt his heat pouring into her body, feeling uncharacteristically warm in the middle of December.

She gestured to the way he was holding her. "I would not dare to think that your touch on me in this manner is deemed appropriate in Gondor, Boromir. Set me on the forest floor again. Your arms are tired from holding my weight, and do not deny it. I see a line of perspiration on your face." She reached, touching his forehead where it was slightly moist.

He sighed and did lower her. Feeling the ground underneath her again made her heave a breath of relief. A being of control like her did not always appreciate being unable to sink her feet into the ground. It kept her grounded and made her feel stronger. The environment was controllable when she could move as she wished without worry. It was a lovely gesture for Boromir to hold her in such a way, but it wasn't how she preferred to be. Maybe she would get used to it – forfeiting control for him. She loved the way his strong arms engulfed her without hesitation and she loved the warmth that poured into her at his touch. Him carrying her to and fro could be another thing she could love if she was given the chance.

"I did have a surprise for you, melda," he pouted playfully and she slapped his arm, stopping the blush from rising to her cheeks at the name.

Arathell shook her head and looked at the floor, kicking away some of the fallen red leaves at her feet. "I am not one to like surprises, Boromir," she murmured.

"You would have liked this surprise," he said and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. She smiled as their fingers tied themselves together, as if they could never be pulled apart. They were locked in a hold of affection and care and it was beautiful to gaze upon. She hadn't shared such a connection with many, despite the ample time to do so. Lindir was never very tender with her, and she had never wanted him to be. He served his purpose with her and there was nothing more. She had never really given Glorfindel the chance to be affectionate with her. He was allowed to rest hands on her shoulders, but only when she needed to borrow his reserve and strength.

But Boromir… it was different. His touch was there because he wanted it to be there, and she returned it for that same reason as well. "What was the surprise?" she whispered, still staring down at their hands.

He gave her a playful smile. "Now, now, how can you expect me to give you that answer when you ruined my plans?"

"So, you are not going to tell me?" she asked with a huff.

"No, I do not think that I will," he retorted. "We shall go back the way we came. Maybe I can show you the surprise another day if you agree to keep your eyes closed."

"I hate not knowing things more than I hate surprises," she grumbled, letting go of his hand and folding her arms across her chest. "You are in my home, and I am the Lady of this land. Tell me what the surprise was!" He chuckled and reached to touch her hair.

As he reached, she pulled back, staring at the hand, the playfulness gone in an instant. "You really do not know the culture of Elves, do you?" He tilted his head to the side in question. "Our hair is a treasure to us, Boromir. It grows until the Valar decide to stop it, and it is the most intimate gift that could be given to us. We do not allow just anyone to lay their hands on it." She thought briefly of the mystery man who had combed his fingers through her hair when she cried. Arathell had allowed a stranger to touch her hair, and for some reason, she did not feel regret about it either. But the idea of Boromir handling her hair made her frightened – yet another thing that she could not explain. "If you touch my hair, there is not a bond greater that I can give you." And this was true enough. It was all the kind of gift she could offer him with her tainted womanhood. She mentally sighed. He would need to be told about that. And maybe he needed to be told of her stranger meeting, but that was not pertinent. She could hide that information, and no one would know about it, aside from whoever had done it. She could not hide the fact that she was not a virgin however.

"You are not ready to give me that privilege then?" he supposed, looking at the strands that waved in the light breeze. "I could have touched it while holding your moments ago. I may even have been touching it. How does that knowledge make you feel?"

She shook her head. "It was incidental," she excused. "Incidentally touching my hair is not nearly as important as deliberately touching it." She scoffed. "Often while in battle, it is not unheard of that an Elf's hair may slash across the face of an enemy much like a whip. It is not truly with our permission, and they never once can be allowed to feel claim over it. But to run your fingers through it, feeling each strand… I just ask that you respect this. There are not many things that I am exceptionally strict about in my race's traditions, but I must insist."

He nodded and she smiled, ready to heave a sigh of relief. "It just seems absurd," he stated and she paused, looking at him worriedly. "After all you have allowed me to partake in with you and your permission; you do not give me leave to touch your hair. It is a calming gesture in my race. It soothes the soul and eases the heart."

Arathell gave him a warm smile, despite the cold that was beginning to surround them. "Amongst my people, it is a gesture of intimacy." She remembered allowing those hands to run through her hair. She remembered telling herself that she was not one to bow down to customs of her people. So, why should it matter that Boromir wanted to touch her hair? A stranger had done it – what could be the harm? As she opened her mouth to contradict herself, her words clogged her throat, preventing the words from leaving. She swallowed them back down and met his gaze as calmly as she could. "It makes my heart flutter to hear that that was your intent. It is sincerely very kind and sweet. But until a promise is made and kept, I cannot grant you the privilege."

"What kind of promise, melda?" he asked in a soft voice. It was as if the quarrel had never happened, and it made her calm in his presence once more. He would not push her to give answers she did not want to give, and she could be grateful for that.

Arathell couldn't help but chuckle and allowed him to take her hand, watching their fingers twine around each other as they did moments before. "I think you know what kind of promise, Boromir," she murmured.

"Marriage?" he questioned, stepping closer to her.

The word was thrown with ferocity into the open and her shock at his frankness evoked a bark of laughter to him. "You waste no time, my lord."

Another sly grin crossed his features, and she felt her heart speed up with anticipation. "It is only because I already long to be called more than just your lord, Arathell. I would hear words like 'husband' and 'love' in your tender voice. It would make my heart fly higher than the Eagles of the Misty Mountains. Dare I say that it would rest upon the very peaks of the Mountains themselves?" Her eyes widened at the profession, or at least the beginnings of it. She didn't know what to say, her tongue frozen to the roof of her mouth. "I know I have not known you long, but –"

Before he could finish the sentence, she stood on her toes and gave him a brief kiss, pulling away with a small smile. "Do not think that I do not appreciate your words. They are beautiful words, but they are improper words all the same. As you said, you do not know me. Much like how I do not know you. The way you see me now is not how I have always been. My history is very lengthy and it is very dark. The burdens I bear on my soul are not burdens that I would want for anyone, and I would not give them to anyone unless I knew that they would be able to carry a portion of them. So do not say what you were about to. I am not a woman who can be loved easily, Boromir."

Again, he appeared hurt by her rejection and she felt a knife tear at her emotions. She was hurting him. But it was a necessary hurt, she was convinced. "You do not return it?" he asked.

"I would ask that you give me time to return it," she answered truthfully. "I am not my sister, Boromir. My sister loves with all of her being and loves very quickly. If someone like you were to say to her after knowing her for only minutes that you loved her, there is a great probability that she would say it back to you. But as I said: I am dark and burdened. I do not fall for words only. And while your words make my body warm, I am not so trusting to know that they are true upon utterance. You must give me cause to love you for more than your words."

"My arm," he guessed. "You would know my skill with a blade."

She shook her head. "I would know your mind and all of its dreams and fears and opinions. I would know your heart and all of its emotions, how it sounds when it races, how steady it is in trials. I would know your soul and how it dances and shines and its perseverance through tribulations. Your arm is an extension of yourself. It is a fortunate extension, but all the same. It is not who you are. And just as how I would know you in these ways, I would hope that you would wish to learn of me in these ways. Only then, I think, can you truly decide whether you love me. Right now, you love merely an idea – a Shadow, a face, a kiss. Love my soul, my heart, and my mind and then you will have a pledge from me regarding our future."

He appraised her, and she watched carefully for the look of lust in his steel eyes. She prayed that she would not see it. Enough Men in her long life had lusted over her. Lust was common in the world of Men. Their lives were short, which could only lead to impulsiveness. Their desires were quickly determined and they acquired their desires in the same amount of time. She would not have Boromir at all if he was only lustful to her. She could find lust elsewhere. If she could have the love that Elrond and Celebrían had, or Celeborn and Galadriel, Kara and Kili, Lúthien and Beren, then this is what she would have.

Boromir reached to take her hand, touching the tips of all five of her fingers with delicacy, and then pressing them each individually to his lips. "I look forward to knowing your body," he whispered against her little finger and she swallowed. "To knowing your mind," he continued with lips on her third finger. "To knowing your soul," he said, kissing her middle finger. "To knowing your heart," he purred, on her index finger now. He pressed a lavish kiss onto her thumb, even taking the tip into his warm mouth, making her shudder. "I look forward to knowing your love, Arathell," he concluded.

Her heart burst and in her shock, she laughed and smiled as if she had drunk too much wine. Her heart raced with a speed that she would have felt in battle typically. But there was happiness in her soul and it was a true and pure happiness that been so far away for so long. It was an untapped well that she had thrown herself fiercely into, and the joy shocked her muscles into laughter.

His lips had covered hers without her even knowing, so it was when she meant to throw her head up out of this deep well for air, that she realized that he stole it from her. She felt herself fall back into that metaphorical well, his hands clenched tightly around her hips so as to not accidentally touch her hair. The fact that he respected her distance meant more to her than she could ever have realized. A part of her suddenly then did regret letting that stranger lay their hands on her hair. Now, all Arathell wanted for Boromir to have had the opportunity to touch her in such a way first. She wished that she had never been with Lindir.

Arathell did not know how long Boromir's happiness would last with someone like her. She did not know if he would turn from her once he realized that she was not pure. She did not even know that she would be alive at all to give him anything.

But she prayed to the Valar then.

She prayed for this Man and his happiness with her.

She prayed that the Valar would let her keep this wonderful, wonderful Man.

Because there could be no one else.

It simply was impossible.

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 **There it is! I hope that everyone likes it; please leave a review! What are we thinking about everything?**

 **I tried to be explicit about what is being said in Quenya, but if there is any confusion: "melda" means beloved. She asks him is he can speak Quenya as "melda" is a Quenya word - not Sindarin! He responds that he can indeed speak it, to which she replies that he speaks it with a Gondorian accent. I get the language translations from so don't sue me! And don't worry - not much of this is going to be used in the story. :)**

 **Check out the music as always and tell me what that Pride and Prejudice quote was from last chapter!**

 **Let's get to 200 reviews and give someone a one-shot! Yay!**

 **Next chapter will be the start of our journey!**

 **Love, LM**


	31. Chapter 31

**Hello, all! Thanks for the great reviews from last chapter! A lot of you responded and we are therefore that much closer to 200 reviews! Thanks a bunch! And thanks to all of you who followed and favorited; I appreciate it!**

 **There is some Sindarin in this chapter - translations will be at the bottom, though I think that you're all smart enough to infer the basic gist of what is being said. And I also realized while looking over last chapter that fanfiction cut out the web address where I get such translations for both Quenya as well as Sindarin. I also get names for the Elves from here as well: realelvish . net. It is a fantastic site and full of fun - go check it out!**

 **Sorry I didn't update last night - first day of classes today and yesterday was just hectic. But I am here now!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson, just Arathell, Kara+kiddos and horses!**

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Part Three - We Barely Make It

Eden/Turn the Page - The Mayfield Four

"I don't want to start all over and find another shoulder to lean on  
'Cause yours makes me feel safe  
And now you're holding on  
You're such a blessing and please stay strong  
For what it's worth, I'm wishing you the best"

 **December 25, 3018 – Imladris**

Her bags were packed, carrying only the things that she was sure to need on this venture. Being well adapted to traveling, she had already perfected the quantity of her necessities, keeping it all to a perfect minimum.

The only thing she would leave behind this time was her horse. Whether with Kastun, Daeroch, or now Faerdhinen, she had always had a traveling companion. Without any of them now, she could not deny how lonely it made her feel. True, she had formed bonds with the people who would be going on this expedition, but the connection between horse and rider was one of the greatest bonds that could ever be had.

Faerdhinen and she had started their friendship awkwardly, but now, she couldn't have asked for a more loyal horse. If anything, her new mare was more like her than her other two horses. Faerdhinen had a temperament that dared to be crossed, and she only answered to Arathell.

With this thought in mind, she strapped her little items to her person and made her way to the stables. There were only hours before she was expected to formally bid her home farewell, but she was intent on making the best out of those precious minutes.

The stables were quiet that day. No doubt, the horses understood the severity that all of their riders considered. A good horse could always feel the burden of the rider. She approached Faerdhinen's stable and walked in without announcing herself. The white mare tossed her head in greeting, but did not release a sound. Arathell walked to her and ran her fingers through the silky mane, whispering gentle nothings into her erect ears. She grabbed hold of the brushes, remembering with a smile that her horse was definitely a lady's horse. Faerdhinen had a distinct sense for personal hygiene, something that Arathell could also relate to.

"We thought you would be here," she heard and spun around quickly to see her two brothers, just outside of the stall. "You are to leave within the hour."

"Yet you dwell with your mount," Elladan added with the smallest of smirks.

She swallowed and went back to brushing her animal, Faerdhinen clopping a hoof on the ground, saying in her own way that she was enjoying the attention, regardless of what the twins said. "Why did you need to find me?" she asked lightly. "Is Father in need of something?"

"Perhaps, but we would not know about it," she heard Elrohir's smooth tone. Others had always said how difficult it was to tell the difference between her brothers. They looked identical, and to many, they sounded identical. But Arathell had never struggled. Elrohir carried a noble presence and always kept his shoulders back. His voice reminded her of honey. But Elladan's air was lighter in seriousness, but still just as mighty. Arathell had always thought of his voice like the wind, with the ability to comfort and with the ability to bite just as well.

But nevertheless, the distinct sounds of their voices were not what concerned her at present. She discarded the brush and walked out of the stall briefly to find Faerdhinen's bag of oats. "Then I do not understand why you are here," she relayed to them gruffly.

"Stop being so dramatic," Elladan replied. She could easily detect how difficult it was for him to rein in his frustration. At that moment, she turned and met their grey gazes. "You are going away," he said, as if the words would give her a clear answer of what they were doing there.

"And you wish to tell me to not bother to come back?" she finished. The stab in her heart was greater than she would have liked. She had known for years now how they felt about her pessimism. She knew how well they enjoyed putting sense into her and knocking her off of her feet with their cruel words. But it still hurt every time they pushed her down. It shouldn't, but it did.

Elrohir smiled at her and reached to trace the contours of her cheek. She stiffened at the touch, but she did not push them away. This may be the last time they would touch her, and it had been too long since they had treated her with affection like that. "No, Sister. That is not why we are here," he said softly. "We have come to a realization." She waited impatiently for their continuation. "We have hurt our little sister."

She scoffed and then pushed his hand away. "Do not patronize me," she huffed.

"We were blind," Elladan continued without missing a moment. "You are strong, Arathell. You are much stronger than any others in our family. Words have never affected you so much. But we realized that it was not with words that we hurt you – not the real reason. We never knew why you were acting the way that you were and only assumed that you were being proud and stubborn."

"You always have been," Elrohir added. "We were wrong to think that we had done nothing to wrong you. We were oblivious to your real pain."

She fought desperately to hold her retort behind her teeth. Her brothers had never been an overly apologetic type, and to hear their gentle words and remorseful tones, she would not spoil it. So Arathell remained silent, waiting for their continuation. "You are our sister," Elladan stated. "We remember the day that you were born with pride. In fact, we both claimed that you were one of the most beautiful beings we had ever seen. We stand by that, Arathell."

She smiled at the words.

"You have been a secluded sister," Elrohir drawled, and she looked over to him. "You have been independent and proud, and we were wrong to think that you were this way because you really wanted to be. It is clear to us now that perhaps we pushed you into your own exile. And this may have happened the moment you desired a sword. We do not know. We isolated you from our family and treated you wrongly."

"That is not entirely true, Brother," she murmured. "You both have been more than patient with me when I speak my mind. But you must understand that my previous words or I should say your previous words, regarding cruelty were not an attribution to this supposed isolation. You are both quite right to assume that I pulled myself away from our family, and you are right to assume that this was my intention. I do like solitude and I think that I always will value it. The words spoken regarding cruelty were said with only one occurrence in my mind."

"We abandoned you and condemned you with Arwen," Elladan surrendered with a frown. Arathell met his gaze as calmly as she could, but she did not rebuke his statement, letting her silence confirm his answer. "We understand your quandary. Arwen is our sister just as you are but that does not mean that we must always agree with her or that we must always agree with you. And we still hold this belief. But our issue in this instance was not that we openly agreed with one or another. It lies with the fact that the argument held was not an argument that concerned your brothers. It was a debate between you and Arwen, and we were wrong to include our opinions in the matter."

"Yes, you were," she agreed stoutly. Her voice shook when it came out however and she felt her bottom lip tremble. Ashamed of her feelings, she looked down and resumed petting Faerdhinen who was as silent as ever. "And then you proceeded to ignore me or treat me with disdain. Can you imagine my hurt when my two fiercest protectors were now the ones hurling the stones?"

"We are deeply anguished, Arathell," Elladan cooed, reaching and twining a finger around a lock her hair. "Can you forgive us?" Elrohir's sure hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed, as if to massage all of her pain away. She exhaled loudly and nodded.

Arms of Elladan threw themselves around her. Many embraces by her brother were filled with laughter and joy, especially when he would lift her from her feet and hold her high in the air. But this embrace was so very different. Elladan was always the brother that she was closest to, and this embrace reflected this. It was tight and uncomfortable, but Arathell could not imagine being anywhere else in that moment. The unintentional pain he inflicted on her smaller body made her feel again. She could feel the love he professed and it hurt so wonderfully.

When he released her, she saw tears brimming over the edges of his grey eyes and she reached to stop them before they pooled over. He chuckled, but held her hand to his face where she could see the pain fall from it.

Arathell turned to Elrohir who placed his forehead against hers, warm air blowing across her face in a sweeter, gentler touch than her other brother. "We love you very dearly, Arathell," he whispered.

"I love you both just as heartily," she responded, closing her eyes. "There is no hurt that either of you could give me that would put an end to my love."

"That is a relief to hear, but it still makes me sad that we had to test such a love at all," he argued, ever the diplomat. He resembled her father.

She violently shook her head and waited no longer to pull him to her. "I would have you know the very foundations of that love, Brother. How can a foundation be known as sturdy if it is not tested?"

"You have become very wise in your isolation, Duvainith," Elrohir approved with a chuckle that was soon accompanied by Elladan's. She refrained from frowning at the name, as she always did but pulled away from her brother, giving him a wide smile.

"I have always been wise," she teased, her heart feeling more at ease.

"Now, I would disagree with you on that point," Elladan remarked. "But you have been wise for a time."

Arathell fought the urge to roll her eyes, looking up at her family with joy. They were her family, her blood and her support. They had stinted on the last for a time, and that had stung more than anything. But they were hers again. She had not lost them completely. And that was well. But as wonderful as it was to have her brothers' love once again, she couldn't help but wonder about Arwen and her thoughts. She and Arwen were as different as fire and water, and their arguments reflected this. Arwen was not anything if not gentle and tender, while Arathell sported heated words and fierceness. Arathell was never the kind of woman who would bow to the will of another, and time had proved that time and time again. She prided herself on being whoever she wished to be. And she was stubborn enough to allow a dispute to carry on until the other person attempted to make amends.

Arwen should have come to her, Arathell thought to herself. Arwen was the nicer of the two sisters and she was likely to be more forgiving. But since Arwen had refrained from being in her presence, Arathell knew that her sister knew that this would be the surest way to hurt Arathell. She had to know that Arathell would never go to her to fix the issue. Or she simply did not want to spend any time whatsoever with the youngest Half-Elf.

She considered voicing this to her brothers, but with their happy faces, she decided to remain silent. It would seem that this was an argument that needed more time to heal properly, and Arathell had too many things on her mind already than to wonder about another fight.

With all of her possessions packed away and her knapsack in her hands, she looked fondly at her brothers. "I should speak with Father before I depart."

"And what of your sister?" Elrohir asked in a scolding tone.

Arathell calmly looked into his eyes. "My hurt was not caused by her so much as it was caused by you. My conscience is clear and I have no time for her weeping." The lie was as grand behind her teeth as it was in the open, but her brothers did not seem to question it. She could tell that they were both still displeased with her, but again, they seemed to think that she no longer felt any emotional pain. Neither of her brothers could be considered very observant and they were ignoring her pain yet again, despite her ability to cloak her emotions anyway. Even with their dispute resolved, she could not deny that their ignorance of her behavior after nearly three thousand years was a bitter sting to her mind.

The twins scowled at her and she sighed. "She does love you, Arathell. Never make the mistake to think that she does not."

Arathell shrugged and swallowed the heavy bile clogging her airway. "Whether she does or whether she does not is not where my concern lies. In fact, I cannot allow myself time to think of it. I am about to leave my home and possibly end up at the end of an Orc's blade. I cannot think of feelings and emotions at this time, Brothers. It would cloud my judgment and make me more vulnerable."

"You certainly have enough time for a certain Lord of Gondor," Elladan remarked with an arched eyebrow.

Again, she shrugged and began walking out of the stables, looking fondly back at Faerdhinen. "Until next time, mellon nin," she called, hearing a neigh chortle back to her, making her smile. Once more, she looked at her kin. "I am sure that I do not know of what you speak, Elladan." They both gave her a dubious look and she couldn't help but smirk at how even their facial expressions looked identical. Both corners of their lips would upturn slightly, and their eyes would soften much like butter. "But if I did, I would remind you both that his company cannot exactly be helped in this circumstance. You both are aware that he is also a part of the Fellowship, yes?" she mentioned. "If he and I become friends on this venture, I am sure that that cannot be helped."

"I think friendship is not his endgame, little sister," Elrohir retorted. "He looks at you as if you are the Moon. And he has every right to, for you are beautiful. But he should not be so absorbed in you that he forgets his purpose on this mission. And I think that it is up to you to remind him often of that fact."

She chuckled at their protectiveness, walking into the house now and up the stairs to her father's study. "What would you say to me if I were to bind myself to him, hypothetically?"

They stayed silent for a moment before Elladan's voice replied warily, "It would not be the first time that such a bond has happened in our history. It is how Aragorn came to be, after all. But we would caution you against such a bonding. Human lives are brief and filled with pain. And this is just the thing we do not want for our sister to be tethered to."

"And what of Arwen and her choices?" she asked. "Have you given her these words as well?"

The both scoffed. "Arwen has never done well to do her brothers' bidding, but yes, we have told her our thoughts as well. Our words were irrelevant to her though, as she was quick to tell us."

Arathell arrived at her father's study and turned, looking back at her brothers. "I will see you when I leave, Brothers," she murmured quickly. Suddenly she felt a tear of despair drip from her eye and she realized just how much she disliked leaving them. It would have been easy to if they had never come to speak with her. But now that she had her brothers back in her arms, the idea to let them go again tore at her heart harder than she supposed. What would it be like to say goodbye to her father? He had been there from the beginning, and besides their hiccough when she was young, there had never been someone so fierce in their defense of her. Her stubborn and emotional ways had hurt him, but he continued loving her anyway, never giving her reason to doubt it.

With her heart heavy in her chest, she pushed open the door to her father's study, knowing that if she raised her hand to knock, she would never be able to commit to it. She turned to smile sadly at her brothers, finding that they had already gone. There was a time when she would have been offended, and maybe such a time was even the day before, but not now. Now she didn't have to fight so hard to swallow her tears by looking into their droopy faces. So instead, she turned to her father's room, seeing him standing out on the balcony.

It had been a memorable place for her on many occasions. Every Council meeting was held in this space. There had been arguments, and not many laughs, but there had been wisdom and determination, and she could not scoff at either of these things.

He waited at this balcony, looking as the sun started to rise from the East. Again, she was struck with the thought of how much longer she would have with this precious light. Would this journey shorten it or save it?

"Father," she murmured. His shoulders hunched, signifying that he had heard her, but he did not turn to meet her. "I am to leave soon," she supplied, knowing that this was information he already knew. His head fell and his hands clenched further around the bannister. She frowned and came to stand beside him, resting her hand on his. Her head fell to his shoulder, burying it in the crook of his neck.

"I have watched you many times leave this home, sometimes planned, and sometimes not," he finally said, and she closed her eyes, feeling the warm touch of her father and never wanting to let it go. "I have feared for you on more than one occasion. Your paths have always had a flare for danger. I have admired your tenacity and your ability to persevere even in harsh conditions. But this departure is so much different, is it not?"

"It is if we think of it this way," she replied gently. "I have a mission; I have had many before. I have been sent to the East to try to restore peace. This is what I do now."

He shook his head before letting it fall on her head. "No, my daughter," he whispered. "No, this time is very different. The dangers you will be met with are much grander than before. Your journey holds much peril and sorrow with very little reward should you fail. We simply do not have the time to regroup and decide what to do if you fail. The fate of Middle Earth is in the hands of ten creatures, all from different races. It is not likely that you will always be cohesive, and I worry for the bonds you will form with each of them." She stiffened. "Word has reached my ears, Arathell. It says that Lord Boromir has been in your gaze, and you have been in his."

"He is Man," she said. "I am Elf. How much worry do you have truly that something will amount to anything? I suspect that he only looks at me because he knows how dire our circumstances are. He knows that he does not have much more time on this earth, and the race of Men has always been impulsive. He longs for something he has never had and hopes that he can attain it with the mere minutes he has left."

"And what of you?" he retorted. "Why is he in your gaze?"

She sighed as she thought of her answer, not knowing truly how she was meant to say what she was feeling. "Perhaps I too feel the pressure of Time weighing down on me. I have never known the joys of love, and perhaps I have become just as desperate as he is."

As she predicted, he did not look pleased by her answer, but he remained calm. "I remember a time when you said that you never wanted to fall in love. You believed that it was a facade and a liability. Clearly, your thoughts must have changed."

She rolled her eyes. "I never professed to love him, Father. And I do not think I do. But I do think that there is a distinct possibility that he could one day mean more to me than he does now." She wasn't entirely sure why she was confessing these things. Aragorn had heard her, but he was not her father by any stretch of the imagination. And Lord Elrond's power over the happenings of Middle Earth should have kept her quiet. But before he was Lord Elrond of Rivendell, he was her father.

That thought didn't comfort her.

"Mithrandir has long predicted that you would find something," Elrond mentioned vaguely. He sighed. "You deserve more than simply happiness. I worry for you, my daughter. If he should fall, your heart will be in danger. You can still go to Valinor – there you will be safe and away from this madness."

"And with the reputation of a coward," she added gruffly. "I will not leave simply to save myself. Middle Earth needs me now and I wish to go and do this one last task. My mind is weary regardless and whether we should succeed or whether we should fail, I do believe that my heart and my mind will be relieved. If I were to go to Valinor now, my heart would only ache with the regret that I did not do everything I could before I left."

"You do not stay for the potential of being with this Boromir?" he rounded, arching an eyebrow at her.

"If we find ourselves in love with one another somewhere along this journey then I will not push it away."

"He is Man," he reminded. "You said so yourself."

"And I have already said that my body and soul are tired from all of the things they have seen. If he were to die to leave my heart broken by his departure, then I will follow him into that darkness with a clear heart. I am more than ready for Death to take me at any time. I will not run from it."

"I still dislike talk such as this," he sighed once more, touching his forehead in sorrow. "You deserve more than what that Steward's son has to offer you."

She only rolled her eyes once more. "I am about to go away for potentially forever and you wish to counsel me on who I give my attention to?"

"Rather guard on how you give attention," he replied, giving her a wry smile. "Clearly the way you gift attention can be construed for more than mere friendship." Her cheek flushed with color at the statement, knowing very clearly that her father was discussing Glorfindel. He had lectured her on her faults before, but this was a mistake that she did not wish to speak about with anyone, especially her father. "He will survive, Arathell," he commented, ending the conversation and making her breathe easier.

"I will miss home," she told him after a moment, looking out into the woods of her home. "I have been away from it before, for longer periods than some, but this is where I was born and raised. It is hard to leave it with the feeling that I will not be returning."

He smiled at her and tucked a strand on brown hair behind her ear and she sighed at the touch. "You have lived here for the majority of your life, to be sure," he agreed solemnly. "But we both know that this place has never been what you would consider a home, Arathell."

She shuddered at the words, but she couldn't find the lie in her to deny them. Her father would be too smart to believe such a lie besides. "I do not know what a home is meant to feel like, Father," she confessed. "I love Imladris and how the trees grow and how the sun shines into our house in the mornings. But I cannot be at ease here. I cannot be at ease anywhere. Erebor echoes too loudly and Imladris does not echo enough. I am surrounded by Dwarves head and shoulders shorter than myself but alone when surrounded by people my size. There is never a breeze in Erebor, but the wind batters our home and makes the water fly harshly here. I do not know what the comforts of home are like. Bilbo speaks of them often and I have read about them. It is warm and snug with just the right amount of room to stretch one's legs without making them ever feel lost."

"And you are lost," he supposed. His tone was factual and stern, but she heard the sadness in the tightness. She could not imagine how much she was hurting him with her words, and she instantly wished that she could retract them and make him forget.

So she gave him a tiny smile. "I do not feel so lost when with my father. He makes all of the hurts disappear so that I forget them completely. For instance, at this very moment, I almost wish that I did not have to leave. I wish that I could stay here and watch the sun come up every day and settle into Imladris. I wish that I could watch the flowers bloom in the spring and the stars in the sky change and make the water glitter."

He returned the smile and leaned to press a kiss to her forehead. "There will be many places in your future that you may be able to catch glimpses of Imladris. The stars will still change and the sun will still rise. Maybe it will be on this quest that you find your home."

Arathell shrugged, her lack of hope not giving her any qualms of not accomplishing this. "If I do not die and we actually destroy Sauron for good, maybe then I will consider where my home shall be. But until then, thoughts of such a future cannot linger in my mind for it will damage my focus."

"I agree." She stared into her father's eyes for a moment, no longer knowing what she should say. The clouds in his grey eyes were darkening by the moment, water daring to drip onto his perfect cheek. She reached to catch the tear with her finger. "It hurts to think of how endangered you are, daughter. The thought of you hurt or murdered does not make me sleep easily."

"It is not meant to," she mentioned quietly. "But I have heard many wise men say that it is this fear that separates us from the evil of the world and while not pleasant, we should embrace it nonetheless. According to Mithrandir, emotions are our most powerful asset."

"You do not believe that."

"But you should. I am young and can find the will to live without such feelings. But your eyes have seen many winters, Father. Keeping them anxious will do nothing for your heart, and that is one of the few things I carry fear for. I could not bear it if my father's heart failed because I was trying to protect our world. Your constant faith in me gives me the will to live, Father. Do not forsake me now. I could not bear it."

He nodded resolutely and released her, looking back out at the woods. "I see the Fellowship gathering at the gates. They are waiting for you."

"They are waiting for us, Father," she said easily. "They would not leave without the proper send-off from Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

With every step she took towards the gates of her city, she felt her emotions mixed in her stomach, nearly making her feel ill. Her feet drug across the floor, or at least that was how she perceived them, trying to delay her departure for as long as possible. But her mind was surprisingly clear. She did not know why, and she could not hazard a cause. She was very likely going to not only her death but the death of Middle Earth. For a moment, she wondered if she truly was grasping what was at stake, for she should not be so calm about it. The scar on her chest reminded her that she was very knowledgeable and definitely not naïve about war however. No matter how determined she was to be anxious, her breathing remained even and her heart did not stutter in her chest. Maybe she had simply accepted what was about to happen.

They arrived at the gates and she moved to stand with the men, specifically beside Boromir behind the Hobbits. He grabbed hold of her hand, giving it a squeeze, and she wondered if he meant to give her comfort. If anything, his touch truly only made her discombobulated feelings even more disrupted by adding on another dimension of thought. Now, on top of saying goodbye to the place of her birth – potentially for forever – she had to consider the simplest touch of his hand.

Instead of looking down at their entwined fingers, she stared ahead at her family. Her brothers stood stoic on either side of her father, who looked worn. She realized then that he was not only saying goodbye to his daughter, but to his foster son who may as well been the fruit of his loins. She did not envy Lord Elrond then.

Arwen was standing more with her people, raven hair tucked behind her pointed ears. Her shoulders were slightly hunched and her teeth set tightly, as if she was angry. Arathell could have sworn she saw a glimmer of a tear.

"The Ringbearer is setting out on a quest to Mount Doom," her father began, and she looked back to him, feeling a lump clog her throat. She blinked furiously, keeping her eyes from watering too heavily and finally decided to look back at Arwen, who was not meeting her gaze. Would she never have her resolution with her sister? Were they forever doomed to walk the path of resentment when it came to one another? With that thought in mind, Arathell settled on looking back at her grasped fingers, hoping for a distraction. Arathell Duvainith did not cry. She never cried. "You who travel with no oath or bond are laid to go no further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. And may the blessings of Elves, and Men, and all Free Folk go with you."

Arathell shakily withdrew her hand from Boromir's to bid farewell to her father and home properly. Legolas and Aragorn joined her in the gesture, and their unknowing unity brought her a great comfort indeed. She realized then more than she had minutes prior that she was not alone on this journey. "The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," Mithrandir boomed from beside her.

Again she swallowed and looked at her father, feeling the urge to burst with tears now more than ever before. Judging by the solemn look in his eyes, she was not alone in the sentiment. "Annon velethen angin," her father whispered, but she did not hear the words. Again she swallowed.

"Dhe melin," she muttered under her breath. She didn't wait to see if he heard her, only turning and walking with the others.

She noticed then that Aragorn had been slow to leave as well. As she stepped out of the city, a tear couldn't be stopped from dripping from her eye. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and was relieved when not even Boromir had seen her weakness. His shoulders were pushed back with his chest puffed out to a muscled curvature that would have sent an ordinary Women drooling. But Arathell did not feel want in that moment. She only felt relief that his poise and desire to appear strong had covered her wobbly emotions.

Arathell reached to her face, pretending to scratch at an itch when a hand fell on her shoulder. She turned and saw Aragorn. He didn't look into her eyes, his lips pursed into a thin line as he stared at the rest of the Company. But his hand was forceful on her light wear, pushing her farther and farther along.

When Boromir did look back to her once they were a ways from the city, he eyed the hand on her shoulder suspiciously. Arathell didn't hesitate to push Aragorn's hand from her and walk up beside Boromir. She would not be seen as weak, and she wanted to prove that to both Men. She did not need Aragorn's constant support, and she did not need Boromir's scrutinizing gaze either.

* * *

 **I hope that you all liked the chapter! There are a few plot bunnies that are being categorically tied up and placed with a bow. I hope that everyone is satisfied with Arathell's conversation with her brothers. I particularly liked writing that scene - very cathartic.**

 **Elrond's line is, "I give you my love," and Arathell responds with "I love you." Just so you all know!**

 **And we are finally off! Yay, how exciting! Sorry for all of those who wanted some more romance in this chapter, but I promise, pretty soon you'll be asking me to cool down haha. :D**

 **Check out the song as always!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	32. Chapter 32

**Hello, lovelies! Thanks for the kind reviews and thanks to those who favorited and followed this story!**

 **And we are officially traveling! Yay! Trust me, the romance is going to be boosted up big time from here on out... you guys will probably hate me by the time it is all said and done. Haha**

 **I am loving all of the comments about Borothell and all of your opinions. Please keep them coming!**

 **Oh, and we are also only 18 reviews away from someone getting a one-shot! How exciting! I think Chapter 17 has details about that if you somehow have made it to this point without knowing about it. :)**

 **Also, I figure that here I should also say, and I am apologizing for the length of these dreaded AN's, but... I have been rereading my story, and I have noticed that a lot of the scenes, and days (especially from this point onwards) are exceptionally long and are full of detail that you may think is extraneous and not needed. I'm not trying to drag this story out, I promise. I apologize if anyone ever thinks that that is what is going on. I'm just trying to make sure that the story is as vibrant and full as the real stories that we know and love. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or with Peter Jackson. I only own Arathell, Kara+kiddos, and horses.**

* * *

Part Three - We Barely Make It

Dream Catch Me - Newton Faulkner

"There's a place I go  
When I'm alone  
Do anything I want  
Be anyone I wanna be"

 **December 26, 3018 – Misty Mountains**

Gandalf was leading them through the Misty Mountains with great speed. She knew that the Company was all debating on what exact route they all wished to take; but thus far, there was no other option than to go through the treacherous Mountains. But Arathell was quick to thank the Valar that they did not encounter the infamous Stone Giants, at least not yet.

When they settled to make camp, the Hobbits dropped with groans of pain. She couldn't begin to imagine the torment that the four of them were going through. Not only were they inexperienced in the field of long journeys, but the pace that was expected forced them to take two strides for every one of hers.

The all began rubbing their feet once they sat, Pippin making little whimpers while the others tried to hide it as best as they could.

Even her feet twanged slightly with an ache. The rocks of the mountains were uneven, as to be expected, but the unevenness of it made her muscles work harder to stay balanced and not fall.

Aragorn and Legolas departed quickly in search of food. She didn't expect much honestly, and she would have been happy to find even a solitary squirrel for them all to share. But the metabolism of Elves was very different to how it was with Men and Hobbits. They would need something a little more substantial.

With this thought in her head, she pulled Finelleth from her quiver and lightly strung an arrow, standing from the small campground to follow Aragorn and Legolas. Almost immediately after her first footstep, a hand grabbed hold of her arm, and she turned quickly to see a hooded look in Boromir's eyes. The light steel of his eyes was stormy and filled with hate, and Arathell hurriedly pulled out of his grasp. "Boromir?" she heard Mithrandir call from behind him, but she did not take her eyes off of him, nervous as to what he could do.

He ignored the Wizard's question, his lips moving faintly with no words coming out. He reached for her hand, and despite her instant reluctance, she allowed him the contact. She wished she had her gift once more to better understand how his mind thought and worked. She wished she knew what to do to help him. "Boromir," she murmured, squeezing his hand.

He nodded and his shoulders relaxed, and she watched the heat leave his eyes and a cool calm replace the hate once buried there. "Where are you off to?" he asked when he was more like himself. She frowned, wishing very much that he was not so stubborn as to admit that he needed help. She would swear to do her best to make him better with the Ring's powers, but she knew that her efforts would not amount to much if he could not admit to himself that he had a problem.

Instead of calling him out directly about it, her shoulders hunched and she tossed a glance at a small gathering of trees, hearing their tender call being carried in the gentle breeze. "I was going to look for some food," she answered, looking back to him.

"Legolas and Aragorn have already gone to look for that," he dismissed, pulling her back to the camp. Unsure of how sound his mind was at the moment, she allowed him, but she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Arathell was never used to carrying out missions with such a number of people before, and she felt slightly constrained by all of the eyes that the Company had. Whether it was dark times or not, she felt that she needed her time to be on her own. Hunting would have been perhaps her only excuse to get away for a while.

They sat at the small fire that Gandalf had created, the Hobbits talking positively with Gimli, with Frodo remaining quiet. "We have not spoken much today," Boromir mentioned as he settled onto the ground. She turned to look at him, unsure of the proper words to say. "Actually, we haven't spoken much since before we left Rivendell."

Slowly, she shook her head in agreement. "I have not spoken with anyone much," she offered. "My thoughts have not been clear enough for even me to decipher, so I did not see any reason to trouble the rest of you with them." This had been more or less true. Thoughts of her family would not seem to leave her alone for an instant. She thought happily of how she and her brothers had reconciled their differences. She thought with pain of how she missed her father and his warm eyes. And she thought with disappointment when she considered her sister and how their quarrels had not been resolved at all. What if she was to die on this voyage? Would Arwen feel regret for being so stubborn? Or would it be Arathell who would bear the last regret for the two of them? She didn't know, and it wasn't something that she liked to think of often, but it seemed to be the only thought that would hold her attention for any length of time.

"What troubles you then, melda?" She saw Gandalf's eyebrow twitch at the endearment, but he did not look away from the rambunctious Hobbits.

Arathell swallowed, guarding her tongue carefully. Her troubles were her own, and she didn't see any reason that she should tell the Man anything of them. "My troubles are not things that I cannot solve on my own," she finally answered, shifting with discomfort on the hard ground.

She noticed Boromir frown at the answer and then felt his hand slither back into hers. He squeezed it forcefully, silently asking for her to meet his gaze, which she did so reluctantly. "How often have you been with a man?" he whispered.

The question startled her greatly and she withdrew her hand without a thought with wide eyes. "I beg your pardon?!" she demanded loudly, catching everyone's attention. At that moment, Aragorn and Legolas arrived back to the Company, Legolas with two braces of rabbits and Aragorn with a sizeable buck. It would suffice for tonight's dinner, she thought with disdain. At that moment, she likely would have given her right foot to get away from everyone for a little while.

Aragorn and Legolas both stared at her with confusion mixed with concern, but then again, everyone was. "You misunderstand my words, Arathell," Boromir said in a hushed voice so that only she heard.

Aragorn took a step closer to them and shot a look to Boromir that she was unable to read while Legolas remained back with pursed lips. "Arathell?" Aragorn asked simply. She stood up readily and held tighter to her bow. She didn't meet anyone's gazes as she walked to the forest, waiting for the warmth of the trees' branches to envelop her. She heard a scuffle occurring behind her, most likely with Boromir being at the epicenter, but she still did not turn to see who else was involved.

Once the trees had successively embraced her, she found a particularly tall tree and touched it gently. Sometimes, she was still amazed with just how beautiful these creatures were. True, most trees did not eat and breathe like the other races of Middle Earth, but their contribution was no less important. They grew to such tall heights, dreams set on the bluest of skies. Their colorful leaves could dance in any kind of breeze or wind and rattle to form the softest of tunes. They were alive and felt things just as potently as she did. They lived for an age, never faltering, standing tall and proud for all to see. Sometimes, Arathell wished that she could have the determination of a tree. They were not all granted voices, but their desire to live could be heard throughout every corner of Middle Earth anyway.

Without thinking of it, she found herself seated high in a branch of one of these trees, her head emerging from the prickly pine. Her fingers felt sticky with the sap from the pine, but in a strange way, it made her feel more connected to the earth than ever. She was bound to the life force of the beating heart of Middle Earth underneath her. She could feel the steady thrum of its life oozing into her fingers where the sap touched.

"Arathell?" a voice called, and her brown eyes snapped open. She glanced down through the thick branches of the trees to see Merry and Pippin looking around anxiously. Behind them was Aragorn who was assured and looking up at her easily. "Where is she?" Pippin asked with his voice shaky with fear.

"Above," Aragorn told him, and the Hobbits finally met her gaze. She couldn't stop the small smile from gracing her features and she easily swung back down to the ground in front of them.

"A good hunter looks everywhere for his prey," she cautioned to them. "You would have looked for forever if your search was bound to the ground."

"Why were you in the tree, Thellie?" Merry asked.

She sighed and reached behind her for the calming bark of the tree trunk. "There is a calmness found in trees that cannot be found elsewhere, Master Hobbit," she answered coolly. "I find that it is a rather swell place to be when plagued with less than happy thoughts."

"What were you thinking about?" Pippin queried.

Arathell waved her hand away. "It is not important now. The trees have made me whole again." Truthfully, this statement was far from the truth. Thoughts of Boromir and his confusing words and clouded mind made her own mind spin with worry for him. She knew of the good he had in his soul. She had witnessed it many times before. But she was worried about how much longer that tenderness would win against the coldness of the Ring's power. She worried about how much longer she would have with Boromir without having to be fearful of him. An Orc, she could slaughter without question, the blackness of his heart as clear as the muck of his skin. But Boromir was turning mad – drunk with the Ring's power, and a Man possessed as he could be knew no limits and was the most unpredictable. Perhaps that was why his comment before had been so shattering to her.

"Well that is good," Merry chirped. "Supper is almost prepared and Pippin and I were getting rather hungry. You were away for a long time."

Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked at Aragorn for clarification. "It has been three hours, we figure," he told her. Arathell felt her eyes widen at the news, never once thinking that she had been away from the group for that long. She should not have been away at all.

"I am sorry," she said. "It was wrong of me to leave the group." She glanced back at the two Hobbits. "Never wander away alone," she commanded. "You should always have someone with you, preferably someone who knows how to fight. I should have stayed with you instead of testing my luck by being out on my own."

Aragorn smiled softly. "None of us were concerned with how you would fair, Arathell," he mentioned.

"Nevertheless," she chimed in; resting her hands on the Hobbits' shoulders and leading them back to their camp. Once they got close enough to see the fire once more, she released the two of them, both breaking into a hearty sprint to their food, despite their sore feet. She paused before walking completely in, feeling Aragorn take a pause with her. She didn't need to hear his question voiced to know what he was thinking about. "You do not need to worry over me, Aragorn," she sighed, turning to look at him.

He licked his lips. "I may not need to, but I find myself doing so regardless." She rolled her eyes. "I have warned you before of what the possible consequences would be should you decide to involve yourself with Boromir. I acknowledge that I am not in control of your decisions and you are at liberty to do as you please. But I would hope that you would take my advice into account when making such decisions. I hear that it is common for friends to do that," he added.

"Your advice has been considered," she replied hastily. "But if my heart desires to be beside his, then my mind has little more influence than yours does in the matter. Believe me; I am loath to consider myself bound to another individual, much less a Man. It is reckless of me, but it cannot be helped."

"He is hurting you, Arathell," he snapped in a hushed tone. She pursed her lips and waited for him to continue. "We are not even one fortnight into this venture, and already he makes you retreat to the forest. We have yet to reach Rohan, Arathell, and we aim for Mordor. His heart may be good, but that does not mean that it is strong. You and I both know how much the power of the Ring plagues him. His eye is almost always watching it."

"He cares for me," she pointed out. "He has said so himself, and he wishes to earn my love."

"Has he?" he demanded, watching her carefully.

"Yes, he has," she retorted, somewhat childishly, she would admit.

"You know I did not mean it in that way," he murmured. Though his voice was quiet and calm, she could feel the fire and brimstone under his gentle tone. She may have been able to see his mind – come to think of it, she rarely ever saw his mind, if ever – but they knew one another well enough. She knew him better than anyone, save perhaps Arwen, and he definitely knew her.

At this, she scoffed. "We both know how unlikely it is for me to give away my love so quickly, Aragorn. It is not in me to love at all. I have always hated the emotion and have found it quite pointless in our repertoire of feelings, save for the love that is shared between mother and daughter. But he strives for my affection. You may not see it. But I do. His mind is not so muddy when he speaks with me, and his touch is so gentle, it makes me feel like an innocent maiden who has never seen blood. I feel younger with him, and I enjoy the feeling."

"He touches you like you are made of glass, Arathell. And when he is not doing this, he is squeezing your very life from you," he retorted. "I have never seen you like this. If Glorfindel were to touch you in this way, you would condemn him for treating you like a child who is not yet mature. You have always searched for approval and respect among your people and suddenly you wish you could be naïve and helpless? And I know that you value yourself high enough to not purposefully cause yourself pain like how he sometimes can."

"Arwen is naïve and helpless and the people adore her just swell," she spat.

Aragorn's mouth closed and his fists clenched at his sides. For a moment, she waited while he controlled his breathing, unamused. "You always must call on her, don't you?" he finally asked. "When will you learn, Arathell that you cannot be your sister? When will you learn that you _do not have to be_ your sister? When will you learn that creating an identity for yourself is more important that any identity you could share with another?"

Arathell swallowed the growing lump in her throat and looked at the Company who was cheerfully eating. She met Boromir's gaze, seeing that it was filled with concern and worry. He knew that she was not at her best, and he cared enough to know what troubled her. "I am hungry," she mumbled, walking away from Aragorn and fleeing to the empty seat beside Boromir.

He met her gaze with worry. "I did not mean to offend you before, Arathell," he whispered, passing a bowl of stew to her. "Are you angry with me?"

She didn't trust the lump in her throat to not croak at the attempt of words so she merely pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and looked down to her food. Boromir had stiffened beside her and when she glanced up at him, she tossed him a wry smile, seeing him return it with his boyish grin that set her insides tumbling. Arathell looked around the small fire, catching everyone's gazes. Gandalf's face was impassive, while Merry and Pippin were grinning like fools. Frodo gave her a small smile while Gimli chuckled. Legolas sighed, but his face didn't show any of the displeasure he was sure to be feeling. Sam glared fiercely while Aragorn was the only one who wouldn't meet her gaze. He focused on his stew, stirring it and slurping it into his mouth without care. His clear dismissal of her activities hurt her more than she thought it would. Out of all who were present, it wasn't a secret that she was closest to Aragorn. She had spent the most time with him and she trusted him as much as she trusted Mithrandir. He was one of her truest friends and he made like she was of no import to him.

"Melda?" Boromir whispered again from beside her. She looked back up at him.

"I am fine," she told him and went back to eating her stew, not feeling very hungry at all.

* * *

 **January 1, 3019 – West Side of Misty Mountains**

A beard gently tickled her face as she regained consciousness. Instantly, she recoiled, sitting up and pointing her dagger at the threat with bloodshot, tired eyes. When she saw the cool steel of Boromir's shocked gaze. "Boromir!" she panted, letting her arm relax slightly. "What is it?" she demanded.

"I was only trying to wake you, Arathell," he remarked with fear if she read him correctly. "There was no need for alarm."

"Word of the wise, my lord," Gandalf mentioned from a small distance. "One should never attempt to wake Lady Arathell with their face within her arm's reach."

"You are very lucky you were not skewered," Legolas added with a playful twinkle in his eye. "I remember a time where I merely tapped her with my foot and she left a rather distasteful scar on my leg – one that I still have to this day, in fact."

"The scar on the back of my hand from two decades ago can sympathize," Aragorn chimed in, brandishing a long scratch that she remembered well. How she had managed to scar the back of his hand, she would never know.

"Yes, yes, yes," she groaned, standing up. "I dislike being awoken. There is no need to point out every ill doing I have committed in my life."

"No indeed," Aragorn agreed readily.

"We would be here for an age," Legolas remarked.

Arathell huffed angrily and kicked dirt into their bowls of porridge, hearing them both groan while Mithrandir and Boromir laughed. She walked over to where Gimli and the Hobbits were talking peacefully about the view the tall mountains had over Middle Earth.

"Heights have never set well with Dwarves," Gimli commented. "We prefer being underground."

"I feel like I'm flying," Pippin said happily.

She smiled at the little Hobbit, taking a seat beside Sam. "Good morning, Thellie,"

Arathell gave him a small smile and then glanced over at Frodo whose face was impassive. She wondered how he was faring with the Ring. Every day, the weapon was brought closer and closer to its doom, and she knew that with every step the little Hobbit took, the weight of it probably grew.

"How is your shoulder, Frodo?" she asked, deciding that discussion of the Ring with his friends was not wise. "Does it fare better?"

Frodo turned from his sturdy rock and looked at her, his eyes a crystal blue, void of anything. "I am quite alright," he replied. "The strenuous walking we have done however has aggravated it slightly. It does not like being jostled so much."

She pursed her lips. "I suppose you could speak with Mithrandir or Aragorn. Both are rather skilled in the ways of healing. Both could provide you some comfort if you asked for it," she suggested.

"I heard tale of all Elves being skilled in healing," Gimli remarked. "If I remember correctly, the Prince Kili once spoke of an Elf-maiden saving him."

Arathell glared at the Dwarf. "With the help of Princess Kara, Gimli," she reminded. "Medicine can only go so far. What Kili needed was Kara there and she was. And besides," she continued uneasily. "Healing does not come naturally to all Elves. We have some who specialize in the art and we have some who specialize in other aspects. Every job is important."

"But you have lived for thousands of years," Merry pointed out. "I'm sure that in the thousands of years you have been alive you have learned something of the trade."

Arathell sighed and looked at Frodo. "My abilities with healing do not extend very far, but yes. I do know basic things about athelas and binding wounds, but…"

"But what, Thellie?" Pippin asked when she quieted and trailed off.

Aragorn was suddenly a part of their group, handing her and the others bowls of porridge. "You are skilled with healing, Arathell," he chastised. "You should not doubt your abilities." She huffed and ignored him. He didn't seem bothered by it and looked at their small audience. "Her abilities are something that is somewhat renowned. There is a tale that she healed herself after being wounded."

"A tale only," she replied gruffly, refraining from touching the scar that Angmar left on her skin. She was never sure how she healed it as well as she did, especially considering that it had been what she would have thought a fatal strike. She could still feel the blood running over her skin, and she could remember just how clear the sounds of the dying screamed with punctuality that reached to her, wanting her to join. She felt her heart palpitate faster, wanting to rush out its last few beats, as if it would make a difference in the end. She could still feel the coldness that suddenly surrounded her, squeezing her so tight she could not move. She had shakily reached up to the wound, the red of her blood tinting her dirty fingers, washing them clean with the metallic liquid. And then she had felt warmth. Her breath had staggered with pain, but her heart slowed slightly and for a moment she had thought that it was the moment of her death. But it was not so. Her heart calmed and continued pumping the blood through her worn body. Blood still trickled out onto her fingers, but even the flow was slowing, until it was nothing but a twinge of pain.

She didn't know how Angmar died, or rather how he was defeated, other than that it was Glorfindel who finished him, but she knew that the sting of her pride would not leave her be. It was her duty to kill him, to exact revenge, and she had not been given the pleasure. But then, she had retaliated in a way that he was sure to not expect. She had lived. She had lived, even when his sword clawed at her life, she continued to breathe. If she had anything to say about this venture, it was that she was not going to let that bastard get away from her again. He was her kill and only her kill.

Aragorn thankfully didn't argue with her, as she had no answers as to how she survived; only that she did. She was confident also that he didn't even know about the scar that she held or who inflicted it. He was only vaguely aware that she had miraculously healed herself as some time or another.

Breakfast was a quick affair, as it had been since the start of their journey. Merry and Pippin would laugh gaily and then would practice sparring some more with Aragorn or Boromir. Arathell would have joined them, but she had often found herself with Sam more and more throughout this quest. So instead of assisting the rambunctious little Hobbits, she would spar with Sam. He progressed much faster than the other two, and he was of a sturdier make she was convinced. He could handle the blows, and she rarely showed him mercy. She would give him opportunities to be sure, and she wouldn't fight as hard, but she would set herself up to be only steps above his own abilities, pushing him harder and harder each day.

Throughout the rest of the day, Arathell took to staying towards the back of the group, along with Boromir and Aragorn, the latter staying the furthest back and watching for any sign of trouble. Throughout this time of mere dredging, she was lucky enough to learn more about Boromir and the kind of Man that he truly was.

He offered her flowers that day, and she took them with a smile, not knowing quite what to do with them. Her hands longed to fiddle with the hilt of Ristor, or play idly with the quiver of arrows at her side. Deciding to rest the slightly dried up flowers in her quiver, she watched the scenery.

"Gondor never is this cold," Boromir mentioned offhandedly, holding his furs close to him. "Gondor bathes in the sun, even in winters."

"It is a cold light in the winters," she said simply. "You simply are never away from the warmth of a hearth in Gondor. I am sure that your people still live in the chill quite commonly."

Boromir seemed confused with the thought. "Do you think my people poor?" he asked her without any anger in his tone. He was merely curious.

Arathell sighed and cast him a glance before looking back at the mountains distant from her. "I think that of every city, there must be some who do not live in wealth. There must always be those who labor and support those with coin."

"Elves do not live in this way," he mentioned.

She shrugged, not taking offense. "Elves are much better at dividing their resources amongst their people. We also do not live in such large numbers either. Every year, there are fewer mouths to feed and fewer houses to build. In one hundred years, Man produces one hundred mouths. In one hundred years, Elf produces only one. But do not make the mistake that there is equality amongst all Elves, Boromir. Just as Kings look down at their commoners, the High Elves look down upon others."

"I have heard tale of some Elves being of greater quality than others," he added, sounding proud of his knowledge.

She graced him with a small smile. "We do have the High Elves," she admitted. "It is a line that I belong to. There are Elves who do not belong to the lineage and are therefore not looked at with as much ardor. Our own Legolas here could not claim such a heritage. My family is of the Noldorin, and he is of the Teleri. Surely you know of the fame of the Noldorin." He nodded, focused on her words. "Even the mountains we trek through at this time were once populated with my people. I suspect that we will soon come upon Eregion, or Hollin, as it is known in Common Tongue."

"Have you visited this place before?" Boromir asked her curiously.

"As a descendent of its population, it would be disgraceful to not bear witness to it," she acknowledged. "In fact, there are many times in my life where I found solace in these mountains, in the city's ruins."

Boromir gave her a confused look, his prominent brows furrowing together in scrunched lines. "It seems like a dark place to find solace."

Arathell merely shrugged and looked into the direction where she knew the fabled ruins hid. "Perhaps that is how you see it. But is it not common in your land to spend time with the fathers of your country? You sit amongst the perished Kings of Old and breathe the air they cannot. My people's spirits do linger in those ruins just as your Kings never truly leave their halls. Their erected homes still stand the test of time, reminding us that we do not have to be fully breathing in order to be stubborn. I look at them as a reminder to myself that if a beam thousands of years old can brave the harsh winds and cold rain then surely I can as well. It brings me comfort. I feel safe there."

Again, he gave her a bereaved look, and she so desperately wished for her gift to show her his thoughts. "That place will never be safe from the onslaught of the Enemy, Arathell," he told her in a dark voice that shook the foundation of her being.

She looked away from him, back to the scenery, where each step brought her closer to those ruins. "They may leave your bones cold, but they warm mine. Regardless of the danger they could possess to me, it will always hold a place in my heart, and I could never forsake it to the degradation of Orcs. My people's honor will not hold to the perversion those foul beasts would place upon it. Even if I am the only Elf left to defend its pride, I would not cower away from it. My blood is not of cowardly make." Her words had become more stiff as she had finished, and when she had, she realized that she did not want to talk any longer about the subject. There had been something in Boromir's words that had made her skin tingle with worry. She knew that it wasn't intentional, but she found herself desiring to get to Hollin quicker, if only to assure to herself that the Enemy's stench hadn't tainted it.

"You would not be alone," she heard from behind her, and she turned to see Aragorn meet her gaze calmly. He did not cower from her stare, as she knew he wouldn't. She had forgotten he was there, the Ranger in him keeping his steps light and his tendency to bask in the shadows keeping him from her sight. Truthfully, his ancient Elven blood made her frightened at times.

She shook her head. "You are not Elf-kind, mellon," she chided politely, still fighting to keep the frost out of her tone. "The duty would not fall to you to see it done."

He was then the one to shake his head. "As a member of the Free People of Middle Earth, it is my job to protect all places from the darkness that is imposed on them."

"There are not even people there," Boromir mentioned.

"Yes, but there were," Aragorn retorted, throwing a look at Boromir that made him huff in annoyance and turn back to the main group, his strides becoming harsher as he drew his furs tighter around him. "Their memory should not be tarnished like that," he continued nevertheless.

Arathell wasn't sure how to respond to such an oath and decided to not respond at all. After the first duel she had had with Aragorn, she had constantly questioned why she and the Ranger had never been closer friends before. She had found that they were fairly similar in some respects – enough to keep them friendly with one another, and yet complete opposites in others, which assisted in pushing the other until a solution for any problem was found. But now, on this journey, she had found it difficult to see that friendship that she had had for so long with him. Where had his laughing eyes gone? Why did his hand forever hold the sheath of his sword? Well, the answers were obvious to her, but they panged her to think that away from Rivendell, her friend was a completely different person than she was accustomed to. His happier tone vanished quicker, only to assume one of caution instead. It was smart, to be sure, as she was just the same. But it was strange to see him in this light.

But one thing had remained a constant in all of the babble of the Fellowship: his loyalty. In all of her long years, she had met many people of kinds of races. But out of them all, even out of her family to an extent, she never once questioned if he stood behind her. It was a strange concept to not have to question it. Arathell was never a trusting creature, even in her younger years. Her father's denial of her warrior request had darkened her heart and made her wary of opening it to people. Lindir hadn't helped the situation at all, though that was partly her fault. It had hurt terribly, and she was loath to put herself in a situation like that again with anyone. Her brothers and sister had even failed her. But Aragorn made his position clear from the start of their friendship. And he had proved himself many times. His comment now was even a gentle proof of it. He could have remained silent, yet he chose to remind her that he was there, supporting her, even when she did not think it or even look for it.

Despite the changes in her friend, he was ever the same, regardless of the company they surrounded themselves with now.

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 **There you have it! I hope that you liked this chapter! Please leave your thoughts as things are starting to warm up here! :D :D :D Any ideas? Let me know!**

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 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	33. Chapter 33

**Hello, my lovelies! Thank you soooo much for the wonderful reviews you all left me! I got quite a few that time around and that makes me so excited! I love you all bunches! And a big thank you to everyone who followed and favorited!**

 **I don't believe I have anything super big to say, other than that we are only 13 REVIEWS AWAY FROM 200! NUMBER 200 will get a one-shot dedicated to them, and it will be written about anything they would like to see. Except slash. And lemons. That's about it. And it does not have to include Arathell. It can be strictly cannon if you want it to be. I love hearing what you think! And I will post on BDS when that gets published so that you all are able to read it for your enjoyment should you choose to. :)**

 **Oh, and also sorry about the shortness of this chapter. I couldn't find a better place to cut it. And the last couple chapters were REALLY long, so consider this me trying to balance everything out. I'm sure the longer chapters will come back soon enough though, so don't fear!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or with Peter Jackson. I only own Arathell, Kara+kiddos, and horses!**

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Part Three - We Barely Make It

Dust in the Wind - Kansas

"Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea  
All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind"

 **J** **anuary 8, 3019 – Hollin**

When the rocks of Hollin reached her sight, she could feel her breath quake in her lungs. It did not seem any more menacing than it ever had, and this brought her great comfort.

"Eregion," she breathed, the mountain air seeping deep into her bones, nestling itself in her warmth. All of the spirits of her people touched her mind gently, pulling at the weight she carried on her shoulders, making her heave yet another sigh of relief.

"It is but a pile of rock," Gimli commented, looking at it distastefully when they got closer.

"Never would have I thought a Dwarf to be unimpressed by stone," she retorted icily, running ahead to reach the ruins. It was true; little signs of civilization were erected, but this was the subtlety of the Noldorin, and it was their prowess in secrecy that had held them in these rocks for so long.

She had Finelleth drawn, an arrow pulled taut with her eyes roaming each crevice and allowing her ears to hear even the faintest rustle of the wind through the bushes. When she felt no evil forebode their stay, she relaxed and beckoned to the others to join her, only to see that Legolas had joined her.

"Have you been here before?" she found herself asking, looking at him curiously while they waited for the others to catch up to them.

Legolas ran his finger along the rock. "Long have I wished to look upon Eregion," he replied vaguely. "The Silvan folk have always looked with confusion towards Eregion, living so openly here amongst rock instead of taking refuge in the woods as we did. I heard clearly what you said to Boromir of my heritage. Do you still look at me as being impure in our race?"

Arathell closed her eyes, breathing in the scent. "I made no effort to conceal it when I said it to Boromir," she mentioned. "I therefore see no reason to not speak plain with you. I have had long discussions with my kin regarding this supposed purity of the Elves. Celeborn is both wise and powerful, though his thoughts and reputation are often shadowed by his wife, Galadriel. Nevertheless, he has shown me in his teachings that we are truly not so different. The blood of the Noldorin and the blood of the Teleri are both red and metallic. Likewise, we truly are not that different from Men, or Hobbits, or even Dwarves. What I spoke of with Boromir was very much a generalized opinion of my people. They look down at you and your kin. But then, I will gladly tell you that I have forever been at odds with your father. I do not like him and I highly doubt that I ever will. His mind is corrupt with thoughts of power and ruling. I see now after our long years as acquaintances that you are not him, but you can understand my wariness of you well enough. You would be a fool if you did not, and I do not take you for a fool. Many times have people looked at my heritage and assumed that I am merely Elrond captured in the form of a woman. Or they see me as the gentle, lady figure of my mother or my sister when I am neither of them. I do not like being judged this way, and I therefore try to prevent judging people in such a manner."

Legolas stared at her with a thought in his head that she wished she could have seen. "I hear from many of the dislike they carry for my father," he finally uttered, his jaw square in determination and defense. But his eyes were clear and open, the question left for her to answer.

"And do they describe their grievances with him?" she retorted, glancing at the Company who was drawing ever nearer.

She heard him sigh and when she looked back to the prince, she saw the face of a broken man. "He is as you say – as everyone says – corrupt. I have seen the way he looks at the Lonely Mountain, knowing the treasures inside. I see how he refuses to help the world. Granted, our resources dwindle and we cannot be of much help anyway. But he closes the gates and leaves the world to rot, thinking that the storm will not enter our home. Honestly, if he would be venture ten feet out of our home, he would see the devastation we live with daily. We are not safe from this shadow." She arched her eyebrow at the word. "You know my meaning," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. His face then adopted a small smile. "Then again, we have never truly been safe from you either."

"No, I suppose not, what with my frequent trips to Erebor," she replied with chuckle.

He met her gaze calmly, but she could see a question brewing just behind their mellow blue. "Why take her in?" he asked in a voice above a whisper, but she heard it well enough.

She didn't need to ask for clarification as to who the mysterious 'her' was. Kara was and always would be a part of her life. The girl had opened her soul to the world. Granted, Arathell still saw it with dismal eyes, but she felt more of a part in it. Kara had given her joy and warmth, and it was that that would push her. Her determination was no longer founded in adrenaline, but it protection and care.

"Who?" another voice asked, interrupting her reverie and she snapped to look at Boromir. Everyone but he and the Hobbits were unaware of her act of charity, and there was even a chance that Frodo knew, considering his relations to Bilbo.

Arathell shuffled on her feet and huffed, unwilling to share any more. Sharing with Legolas was easier, mostly because he knew things about her already. True, she had many secrets, but he would never think to ask about them. He knew Kara, just like Aragorn, Gandalf, and even Gimli did, or he knew of her. But her daughter was the most precious thing associated with Arathell. And Arathell would be damned if she shared that private life with others. Maybe she would tell them someday, but for today, Kara was a secret Arathell would hoard for herself.

She rolled out her cot out against the shelter of the rocks, blocking the wind well enough. She sighed in content and went to look after the Hobbits, particularly Sam. As she understood it, he had not done well with choosing suitable places for cots according to Frodo.

"Hello, Miss Thellie," he said happily when she approached. She gave him a smile in return and watched him take out his cot.

"It would be warmer if you were to place yourself away from the wind," she cautioned. She pointed back to her own. "There is room up by mine."

"That would be mighty improper, my lady," he sputtered, turning an unhealthy shade of red.

"We have been on this excursion for weeks, Master Hobbit. Now is not the time for propriety. Should we both live to the end, I shall make sure to chastise you, but until then, I would have you warm. The last thing this Company needs is to have someone get infected with a cold. Surely you would give it to the others, and I cannot take care of all of you and your runny noses. So just go put your cot by mine and help Gandalf with dinner."

Sam scurried away quickly, looking even redder now. She grinned to herself, realizing that she had raised her hands to land on her hips. The stance was familiar to her, she realized, thinking of Kara. The girl had been filled with adventure and rebellion, and there had been much punishing in her time as foster mother. She had tried not to squash the girl's spirit, but she still found herself adopting a certain tone and look when disturbed. Realizing that she had only reentered that role as a concerned mother when talking to Sam made her stomach ache. As strange as it was, Arathell missed motherhood. Maybe it was for selfish reasons, but she missed that connection with a child. Kara had depended on her in a way that no one else would trust to. Kara had given her a reason to go on, and Arathell missed it. She missed hearing the girl laugh and she even missed the arguments, where Kara would inflate with anger and explode in a way that made even Arathell shudder.

"You miss her," gentle words muttered from beside her. She sighed, looking down at the ground and letting her hands fall back to her sides. "You are not alone in that sentiment, Arathell," he told her. "She was everything you could wish for in a best friend. A part of me even wishes that I could have been with you to visit her this past year. I have not seen her since she departed Rivendell."

She gave a watery smile to Aragorn. "I promised I would see her again," she admitted, swallowing a ball of pain, grimacing. "I do not even know if I can keep a promise like that."

"Your word is one of the soundest I know," Aragorn comforted. "If you promised her this, then you will find a way to get back to her."

"She is a mother now," she breathed. "Three beautiful children, they are. Glorsha, Thorent, and Arabiff – my grandson will be the King of Erebor one day – King of all the Dwarves in Middle Earth."

"Then you must certainly live to see those days," he said happily. He glanced at Gandalf, Gimli, and Sam, who had just finished cooking the meal. "They are getting better," Aragorn commented, gesturing to two Hobbits practicing swordplay with Boromir. The sight made her smile, knowing that this was one of the few times in the past weeks where Boromir's mind was completely clear of all distractions of the Ring. He was himself again, and it brought her great comfort.

"They will have to keep getting better," she added with a grunt. Aragorn pulled of his pipe and walked to the campfire to light it before turning to go sit down where the practicing was occurring.

"We must hold to this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days," Gandalf mentioned as they all huddled to eat. "If our luck holds, Rohan will still be open to us. From there, our road turns east to Mordor." She watched Sam approach her, pushing a bowl of stew at her. The sight of it made her grimace, but she took the proffered meal anyway, having not eaten in almost three days. Sam gave her a tiny smile and then moved to Frodo with an additional bowl of food.

"One, two!" she heard Boromir call out, a gentle clash of swords meeting her ears. She grinned and went to sit beside Aragorn who was watching with shrewd eyes. "Good! Very good!" Boromir acknowledged.

He engaged Pippin next. "Move your feet," she and Aragorn called out. She spared her friend a glance, noticing how he didn't seem bothered by it. "You steal my words now, mellon?" she teased.

"I daresay you stole mine," he retorted around the pipe still in his mouth.

"I will let you steal some of this… soup and we can call it a draw," she suggested.

He shrugged and took the spoon from her to take a quick bite. "What number was that?"

"Number of draws?" she clarified, seeing him nod. "I have lost count." One hundred and eighty-eight, her mind argued.

He grinned, as if reading her thoughts. Neither would ever be able to forget such a thing. "So have I."

"You look good, Pippin," Merry congratulated, snapping them from their conversation to focus. Boromir turned to engage Merry, and Merry looked every bit of ready for him. "Faster," he ordered, a look of concentration blooming on his face as he met the sword.

"Arathell," Aragorn murmured, looking up at the sky. She followed his gaze, seeing a midnight black cloud moving closer to them.

She stood up immediately, running to Legolas who had already seen it. She focused her eyes on the image, distinguishing little features that seemed to constantly be changing. It was moving.

"Gentlemen, that's enough," she heard Aragorn yell to Merry and Pippin, but ignored it.

"What is that?" Sam asked, and then she felt darkness reach for her.

"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud," Gimli dismissed, but she was not so sure. This was no cloud.

"It's moving fast," Boromir called out. "Against the wind."

"Legolas," she warned in a whisper.

"Crebain from Dunland!" he yelled.

"Hide!" Aragorn shouted.

The campgrounds were in disarray, everyone focusing on hiding their presence, including dousing the fire and pushing the Hobbits to safety.

She found herself pressed into Boromir's side with his arm drawn around her tight. When they all flew over, their noisy caws screamed in her ears and she fought the urge to reach and plug them. They circled around their camp for felt like hours until they finally retreated, going back the way they came.

"Did they see us?" Boromir whispered to her, not relinquishing his hold of her.

She nodded and pulled away, climbing out from underneath their bush. "Most definitely," she said. "They know that we are here."

"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf growled. "The passage South is being watched. We must take the pass of Caradhras," he told them, looking at the foreboding mountain.

"Can Halflings handle such cold?" Boromir asked in a pant. From the sudden look in his eye, she knew that with all of the activity, and all of the wretched darkness, his mind was harder to hold. She reached to hold his hand, pushing her strength through her arm and into him.

She felt everyone looking at their hands, including Boromir himself. She watched with a smug smile as his breathing was brought back under control and his eyes looked more or less normal again. Everyone else seemed relatively relieved as well. "They will have to," Gandalf answered with a sigh.

"Well then we had best be on our way," Gimli announced gruffly. "I still believe that we would be far better off to go under the mountain, through Moria. What could be the harm?" he growled.

"There could be great harm," she retorted, releasing Boromir's hand and walking to her unrolled cot. "You are very brave indeed if you would desire to stay inside of those halls. Not even the bravest of Elves venture there. I cannot say that I even have."

"If Miss Thellie is afraid of it, then it sounds like we should be too," Pippin chirped, looking slightly green in the face. "Thellie doesn't get scared."

She gave Pippin an encouraging smile. "That is very sweet, Pippin, but I am afraid that it is also very untrue. There are many things in this world that I fear greatly. Those caves are only one of those fears."

"Moria is no forsaken land, Lady Shadow," Gimli snapped with a huff. "If the stories are told correctly, you even helped the Dwarves of Erebor reclaim that land. Why should you help if you were afraid of their prize?"

"Because it was the right thing to do, Master Dwarf," she growled, walking away from the group to lead. She stared up at the treacherous mountain, feeling the blood in her veins already accept the wintery chill the mountain promised. The footsteps behind her were heavy and purposeful, not at all the stride of an Elf or Hobbit. "Boromir," she sighed without turning.

"How did you know?" he teased, reaching and grasping her hand in his. The touch made her smile, but she still didn't look at their contact. She didn't bother answering; only staring up at the invisible peak that Gandalf promised was there. She had been on this road before, and she hated it.

"I do not like this mountain," she drawled, her voice cracking in her stretched neck. "I have never liked it."

The hand holding hers squeezed lightly. "I would much rather go to Gondor," he acknowledged. "There is at least the benefit of people there, of safety."

She sneered, still not looking at him. "Your country is no safer than any other. Mordor lies on your doorstep and challenges you at every possible opportunity. You are not safe in Gondor. It is a fool who would think something like this. As for the benefit of people, a quest like this would do better to creep along and hide in the crevices of the map. Being in a large city would call out to all of those who are of weaker mind and they would announce to your neighbor that the Ring was there."

"The minds of my people are not weak, Arathell," he scorned, releasing her hand.

Perhaps it was wrong of her, but the scoff that escaped her throat came out too quickly for her to even hope to retain. "I have spent enough time around your people to know their minds well enough."

"You cannot see minds; it is absurd!" he spluttered, looking furious.

Arathell snapped her gaze at him and rested her hands on her hips. "You know nothing of the gift of Shadow, do you?" His snarling mouth settled into a firm line of annoyed ignorance. "Before this Ring came near me, I had the gift to see the workings of the minds hundreds of miles away. I could look into their character and see who they were at their barest part. But since the moment the Ring entered Rivendell, I have effectively become blind. My gift has been ripped away from me, but do not think for one moment that I am naked without it. I can still read you like an open book and I can still read your people."

"Arathell!" an angry voice barked, and when she turned, Gandalf was staring firmly at her. "Keep your words to yourself if they do not do anyone good. I have no time for your annoyance, and therefore I certainly do not have the time to allow you to annoy me. To the back of the Company with you until you can manage your own thoughts and forget about others'!"

Her hands clenched into fists as she glared at the Wizard. "At least I am not afraid to say the words that everyone has been thinking," she growled before taking her place at the back with Aragorn slightly ahead of her. They all stared at her, not fully accustomed to her outbursts. Or rather, everyone besides Gandalf, Aragorn, and Legolas were not accustomed to her outbursts. The Ranger and the Elf gave her quick glances, surveying her and making assessments of their own. Legolas, blessed with a quick-mind that sometimes got to the correct conclusion made his conclusion almost instantly and moved to the front of the moving company with Gandalf. Aragorn's eyes tarried on her for a while, and it was soon that she realized that he had fallen into step beside her.

"I did not know that your gift was gone," he mentioned quietly.

Her eyes rolled and she looked ahead determined. The wind was starting to increase in those moments, and if it hadn't been for her Elves ears, she was sure that she would not have heard Aragorn's words. "Now you do."

He pondered this for a moment. "You hide it well," he finally stated, and the bluntness of it made her head turn to stare at him. "I've never thought for a moment that my mind was hidden from you." He laughed mirthlessly. "You analyze us enough."

"It is not a laughing matter, Aragorn," she retorted angrily. "It was everything to me. And now it is gone."

Aragorn gave her a dubious look out of the corner of his eye. "No it wasn't."

"You are too blunt today," she growled, waving a hand to dismiss him.

Naturally, that simply was not what he intended to do. "It was a part of you, to be sure," he continued as if she hadn't interrupted. "But you did not love that the most in your life. I know just from seeing you that it was your daughter that means everything to you." Her mouth closed and she paused in their walk to stare at him. He did not seem bothered. "So stop complaining about such things. You have lost your gift, but you have your daughter and your grandchildren. Besides, you could do well with some humbling."

Again, she felt that her pride was sorely punched, and she even grimaced at his words. She could remember millennia ago, she would have exploded into words of cruelty and anger, but now, her mouth remained closed. True, there was probably a more eloquent way for him to say those things, but that did not make them false statements. She did have the tendency to complain of things she shouldn't, and it would be Aragorn who would take up the challenge of pointing it out to her. Gandalf could have tried, but it wouldn't have gotten very far with her. She never would have lent Legolas an ear to begin with.

And quite honestly… she wasn't entirely sure that Boromir knew her well enough to call her out on her bad behavior. He meant much to her, and she enjoyed his company quite well, but he hadn't been around her as much as the others had.

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 **There it is! There were some clips in there from the movie, but the majority of it was original. I hope that you all like it, and PLEASE leave a review! Borothell anyone? Legathell? Any other pairing on your mind? Tell me about it! Remember that we only need 13 more reviews in order for someone to get a one-shot!**

 **Check out the music as always!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	34. Chapter 34

**Oh, my goodness, hello! What a response! Thank you all sooo much! We are almost at 200 reviews! This chapter, I think someone will be announced as a winner! ONE THING THAT EVERYONE SHOULD READ PLEASE: If you are #200, PLEASE TURN YOUR PM ON! I CANNOT CONVERSE WITH YOU ABOUT YOUR AMAZING IDEA IF THIS IS TURNED OFF! ALSO PLEASE HAVE AN ACCOUNT AS I WOULD STILL BE UNABLE TO REACH YOU! That is all. Let's get there!**

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Part Three - We Barely Make It

Shinedown - Shed Some Light

"It's innocence within the maze  
But I have chosen the wrong way  
I'm still getting over who I was  
There's no sense of trust, there's no definition of love"

 **January 11, 3019 – Redhorn Pass**

The Mountain was bigger than ever once their reached its base. Only a little ways away, the Redhorn Pass lingered, already dusted with snow.

She snarled at the sight of it and looked at Gandalf behind her for further instruction. Over the past couple of days, she found herself at the front of their Company, using her Elven eyes to detect any danger that threatened them from a distance. And no one had approached her yet about her tantrum of sorts three days before. Only Aragorn's words had lingered, and not even Boromir seemed to gather the courage to speak to her. She knew that ordinarily, he would have done so rather speedily after their disagreement, as they had done in the past, but she knew that the Ring was taking its hold over him.

She looked at the warrior now, feeling her heart clench in her chest at the darkness that masked his handsome face. Arathell was being childish, and she knew it. The Company needed her, but more than that, Boromir needed her to be strong for him. He needed someone to pull him from the tempting gold jewelry that rested around Frodo's neck.

Arathell waited with a practiced patient face until they all approached her. When Boromir met her gaze, she walked up to him and took his hand, entwining their fingers. "Thank you, melda," he whispered into her ear, and she felt that darkness drain from his palm into hers. She shivered at the evil creeping in, but she did not pull away. She was an Elf, and Elves were nothing if not sturdy and steadfast. She would take his burden if that meant she could have him be his cheerful, loving self.

"What now?" Merry chirped, sounding exhausted. "Please tell me we don't have to walk up that," he begged with a swallow while the other Hobbits stared with wide eyes.

"Yes, Merry," Gandalf snapped. "This is our road."

"Do we have to hike up it now?" Pippin croaked.

Gandalf looked frustrated by the question, but after he looked at the others, specifically the Men and Dwarf, he sighed. "We will camp here for a time. We leave tonight by the cover of darkness and hope that Saruman is unaware of our plan."

"How much hope do we have where that is concerned?" Boromir drawled sarcastically. "That devil sees everything, it seems."

"Saruman is deep in Sauron's council," Gandalf replied, a touch of defeat mixed into his voice that wouldn't have been detectable to an untrained ear. But she heard it clearly, and she could tell that Aragorn and Legolas did as well. Looking at the Hobbits and other however, she noticed that they seemed only confused by the words. Gandalf sighed and looked to his feet. "Saruman has what is known as a palantir." Gimli and Boromir both stiffened, and she felt her own eyes widen. So, her father had been right! "It is also called a lost-seeing stone. There are several, but not all of their locations are known to the public. We know for certain that Sauron has one, and it has been confirmed for me that Saruman has one as well."

"What do those things do?" Pippin asked.

"They can be a means of communication, or as a tool for spying. Sauron has been poisoning Saruman's mind with it, which is what turned him against us in the end. They are dangerous things, regardless, as anyone can be watching. There are several that are missing, and what their holders believe is beyond me."

"We should set up camp then," Gimli harrumphed, clearly done discussing this topic. "Come along, Hobbits. We will see if we can find any firewood that is not yet wet."

"Come, Arathell," Legolas gestured, gathering his bow. "We will go look for some food." She grudgingly nodded and followed him, leaving the others to finish setting up the encampment. "You have been quiet for these last few days," he commented.

She sighed dramatically and took out her bow. "You are going to scare away any food with your blabbering," she snapped.

"We both know that whatever animal has the will to live in conditions such as these will not be afraid by the sound of voices. And Elves speak quieter than most," he continued, unbothered. "I am sorry about your gift. I know that we have discussed this before, but my condolences still apply."

"It affects us all in some form or another," she replied with a shrug, keeping her eyes wary of any sign of life. "We should really focus on the hunt, Legolas."

"I am not so bothered by it," he carried on, and she sighed and found a sturdy rock to sit down on. He gave her a small smirk which she returned with a frown and a bored look. "Why are you sitting?"

"Because if we are to have a conversation, then I might as well commit to it, and it is clear that there is nothing that I can say that will bring you to focus on food. Speak – before I change my mind."

Legolas took up the seat beside her. "It would make sense that Frodo would be so affected, as he is the one who is carrying the Ring. Boromir is Man, so his mind is already susceptible. But the rest of us should be more resilient than that. How is it that you are so entwined with the Ring?"

"How do you expect me to know?" she retorted. "All that I know is that the moment I saw the Ring, I felt my gift being physically dragged out of my body and away." She adopted a blank face, hiding her emotions from the Elf and focusing on a tree just behind him.

His head tilted down slightly and he looked at her out of the tops of his eyes, scrutinizing her carefully. "Did it hurt?" She blinked and stared back at him. "When the Ring took your gift from you, did it hurt?"

Arathell was unable to stop the shiver from running down her spine at the memory of it. "I do not know if I would call it pain. It was as if my breath was stolen from my chest, and my head clouded, and I no longer had control of my body." She grimaced. "I fled. Like a coward, I fled. And…" She blinked again and shook her head. She stood from her rock and looked back to the woods. "I will not discuss this with you," she finished, stalking away from him before he had the chance to stop her. Weakness was not something often shown coming from Arathell Duvainith. She did not cry in front of others, and she did not allow people to know of her tears. There was no reason for him to know all of the details of her experience. And there was certainly no reason for him to know about the mysterious stranger who had taken it upon himself to comfort her.

A part of her was still concerned with who that was. Not only for Boromir's sake and her faithfulness to him, but also out of pure selfishness – it frightened her to know that anyone had seen her in her distress. It was demeaning for an Elven Lady from Imladris to brandish her insecurities where anyone could see her. She knew at least that her father would not have approved. And he wouldn't have approved of the stranger holding her the way he was, touching her hair and synchronizing their heartbeats to calm her.

Another shiver trekked down her spine as Arathell considered that embrace. She had never felt something so… full. She had kissed Lindir many times in her years, but never once did any of his kisses betray that steadfastness that she felt in the stranger's embrace. And Boromir's kisses and holds were passionate and warm, but there was something that was missing from it. Perhaps it was the safety of the other that was provided, shielding her from everything, even from her own fears. Boromir had yet to do that. But she did not need protection for herself.

"So you have no prediction as to why you are so affected?" Legolas calmly asked once he caught up to her.

She snarled in response, ignoring the question and pulling an arrow from her side quiver. She strung it to her Finelleth and pointed far into the distance where a stray moose was looking around for the source of noise. She released her arrow before Legolas could make another sound, smirking when she saw the animal fall in the distance. "Come. That arrow would not have killed it so quickly. I would put it out of its misery."

She ran ahead of him then, coming up to the fallen moose that was still panting heavily. She frowned from the sadness and withdrew a small dagger to finish the animal. She rested her hand over it. "Be at peace, my friend," she whispered gently. "It is smaller than I would have liked," she commented in a dry voice. "Young," she determined. "Probably not even a year."

"It will suffice for the others," he told her, bending to retrieve a half of the animal while she raised the other half. The walk back to the camp was quiet and she thought about the moose she had killed. She did not regret doing so, as her company needed food, especially for the kind of journey that lay ahead of them. They would need their strength. But the symbolism of it shook her to the core. How easy it would have been for her own Kara to have been murdered freshly away from her mother. This moose was probably experiencing the world for the first time on his own, away from the comforts of his mother, and he had life brutally ripped from him. The same could have happened to Kara easily.

"You really do not have any predictions?" Legolas asked once more and she sighed dramatically.

"My father was there the day that Sauron was defeated," she began, gritting her teeth as she did so. "I suppose that you could say that he had an integral part to play in that battle. After Isildur cut the Ring from the hand of the Dark Lord, my father was there to try to bring Gondor's heir to sanity and understanding." She paused and furrowed her brow, huffing as she readjusted the animal in her grasp. "He led Isildur to Mount Doom, deep in the hold of Mordor. He took him to the doorway and to the ledge where the Ring could and should have been destroyed once and for all. But my father was not convincing enough and his attempts to rid the Ring were in vain. Lord Elrond of Rivendell failed that day. And his children will pay for it. My gift being stolen is how I pay." She huffed again. "Or at least that is what I assume."

"And your siblings?" Legolas asked with a hint of something she could not determine. "What are their punishments?"

She turned her head to glare at him. "I do not know if you have noticed, but I am not terribly close with them. My brothers and I have reconciled, but there is a barrier of stubbornness and pride that blocks me from my sister."

"Was that barrier of your making, I wonder," he mused.

"We each had a part in it, Legolas," she snapped. The use of his name brought him to attention and he stared at her. "It is something that no one seems to grasp," she murmured, mostly to herself. "It is implausible for Lady Arwen Undómiel to have any great part in something dismal and upsetting. It must always be the fault of the younger sister, for she is not yet wise and has her heart full of grudges of jealousy. No, Legolas. My sister may appear to be regal and gentle in the common eye, but behind doors, her eyes look at me with nothing but disappointment. And that is if she looks at me at all, mind you."

Her companion fell silent and for that, she was grateful. She did not overly enjoy speaking of these things with people, least of all him. But it seemed that he had listened and was at least giving her words some thought, which was better than what many others had done when she tried to describe her plights to them.

They returned back to camp with their moose, the Hobbits bouncing for joy, while Arathell could only presume that Gimli was trying to as well, but his protruding stomach was all that moved. "Here," Aragorn gestured, dagger already withdrew to carve up the animal.

It fell with an ungraceful thud onto the hard, cold ground, and she watched Aragorn make a fine line down the center of the moose into its gut. The smell of cooling blood instantly filled the air and the once joyful Hobbits now looked very withdrawn and Pippin's face was turning green. It made her sad in a sense that the smell no longer bothered her – it was a common smell to her nose and was therefore no longer important to register as being repugnant. It was simply another way that she had lost some of the innocence Elves were so famous for, particularly Lady Elves. She was meant to be behind a wall in Rivendell, embroidering something with Arwen and giving one another pity and small words of comfort. Of course, Arwen was filled with hope, never doubting that her brilliant lover would let the world fall to despair. Aragorn would save her and bring her from Imladris to marry her in front of all of Gondor.

But Arwen had not seen the things Arathell had. Each time the youngest sister would close her eyes, she could see bodies, hewn apart in ways more repulsing than the last. Limbs hacked away and used to beat another. Orcs, though stupid they may be, had an incredible knack for causing severe emotional pain to their victims. They played with their food before they killed it; it was sport to them. To have the use of a fallen comrade's arm touching you and hurting you would be too much to bear for anyone. She could see the teeth of the villains, feasting on a still flailing soldier, begging for death. She had even seen women of all countries with tattered skirts and bloodied rags around their legs. She had seen the rape of the Orcs, using their victims for a twisted form of pleasure and then finishing them with one thrust of a sword. She could hear the screams of each of these people, calling for some form of help, even if it was for Death to take them at last. Arathell would have helped each of them if she could. But each time, she had been engaged with a battle of her own, fighting for her life, clawing for breath with the rest of them.

Sometimes, she wondered how she was alive at all. There were so many chances for the Valar to take her, so many times where she fell the icy grip of Death reach for her limp body, only to recede. Her father would tell her proudly that it was because her task on Middle Earth was not yet done. There was a purpose that she needed to serve here before being taken up to the golden halls of Manwë, above the world and above the pain. More than once she had wished otherwise.

"Hello, my melda," a voice purred into her ear, and she was snapped out of her reverie. "Or should I be calling you my Shadow, my lady?"

"Call me what you will; it makes no difference," she replied darkly. "Call me your beloved or call me an arm of Death."

His brows furrowed and he reached to take her hand. "Does the sight of the moose disturb you?" he asked.

"No," she snapped. "No, I was the one who killed it. I am desensitized to things like this," she disagreed, staring at the animal still be carved. Gimli still looked excited and had even began to help while the Hobbits stayed at a distance, talking to Mithrandir. Legolas remained high on a rock, keeping watch for their company.

"Then what plagues your mind?" he asked her.

"Memories," she answered airily. "Memories of just how I became desensitized to such things. You may be neighbors with evil, but I have grown with it hanging over my shoulder, my mind, since I was not even a century. I am… tainted, Boromir. I am not what many would call a real Lady, filled with soft words and happy thoughts in her head. That is simply not how I am."

He smiled and reached to touch her cheek. "It sounds as if you are not as desensitized as you claim, Arathell. You still look pained when you speak of it. It still disgusts you just as much as it does for anyone here. You simply acknowledge that we live in the province of war and that things like this can happen. It does not mean we have to be happy about it or think indifferently; we just know that it happens."

Arathell turned to give him a small smile, squeezing his hand. "You put much faith in me, Boromir," she told him gently. "You put more faith in me than most."

He shook his head. "I would not say that this is so either. Everyone present trusts you implicitly, even the Dwarf, though he would not say so if you asked him. Your determination leaks to every one of us. We look to Gandalf for wisdom, to Aragorn for strength, Legolas for skill, Gimli for pride, the Hobbits for innocence, and we look to you for determination."

She tilted her head to the side to stare at him. "And what do we look to you for?"

Boromir sighed. "If you find an answer, I would appreciate you telling me, for I do not know."

Arathell furrowed her brow, trying to think of what she looked to him for. In honest, she did not often look to people for anything. She preferred relying on herself, but she was the only one she could completely trust. There were a few others who she ranked highly in her trust circle, but not many – Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, Mithrandir, and Aragorn were perhaps the only ones. And she would never think to trust her secrets with her daughter – they would ruin the happiness Kara held. She would not break her daughter for the benefit of relieving herself of a burden.

Her siblings had already proved to her that their opinions of her could change on a whim, and she disliked the thought of giving secrets to someone who could hate her tomorrow. It simply wasn't logical.

"You are needed on this journey, Boromir," she told him weakly, giving his hand a squeeze. "We may not know the full purpose, but I am sure that the Valar would not have given you to us if they thought you did not have a purpose. No roles on this quest are small."

"Come," another voice called and she looked to see Mithrandir standing, clicking his tongue in impatience. "The road is long, and it is treacherous. We can delay no further. Douse the fire and erase the evidence we were here. I am sure that Saruman knows our intent, but if we could create even a grain of doubt, that may buy us some time."

"We haven't slept in over a day, Gandalf!" Pippin whined, but began rolling his cot back up. "We are tired. Can we not sleep for but an hour?"

"I have no need for those gripped by fatigue," the Wizard snapped. "Stay if you must but do not expect us to return for you. The journey will stop for no party." Pippin swallowed painfully then and began packing all the quicker, looking much more awake now.

She turned back to stare at Boromir. "You have not eaten," she chided.

"I have eaten, my melda. Cease your worrying," Boromir retorted.

Arathell gave him a skeptical look and ran her eyes over his form. "You have never been on this pass, have you?" she drawled, standing from her rock and folding her arms across her chest. Boromir gave her a small, completely _devious_ smirk that reminded her of his behavior in Rivendell. Keeping her focus away from his lips, she raised her chin in defiance. "You need to be strong," she said weakly.

Boromir's smirk widened and she was sure that he knew how that smirk affected her. He rose as well and invaded her space, looking down into her eyes and making her knees feel slightly weak. "I didn't know you considered me a weakling, Duvainith," he purred. The name made her sigh and she regained some of her focus and looked to the ground. Before she could say anything, he raised her chin with a finger and pressed his lips to hers.

The breath in her lungs was instantly stolen away as he molded himself to her. His face was scratchier than before, with his beard growing thicker and rubbing her skin. The touch of it was something she relished, loving the roughness. Part of her wanted more from the touch, finding herself respond to the kiss by wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. She waited impatiently for his tongue to breach the barricade of her lips to ravish her mouth, but he remained distant, simply pushing his lips over hers. It wasn't enough for her; she needed more, and she strove to push him to give it to her, but he either did not understand her restlessness or was merely teasing her. After another moment of kissing him and feeling deprived, she pulled away with a huff. "You know nothing of women," she barked roughly.

He only laughed and held her tight to him, touching his nose to hers. "Perhaps I do and you are simply extraordinary compared to the others. You are unlike them."

She huffed once more but mostly out of jest, giving him a tiny smirk. "Then you know nothing of me," she murmured to him, smirking further when he rolled his eyes.

"Arathell!" Aragorn snapped, drawing her from Boromir's cool grey gaze to look at the Ranger. "We are leaving," he stated matter-of-factly. "Bring up the rear. Boromir, stay with the Hobbits."

"You always bring up the rear though," Arathell playfully whined, pulling away from Boromir.

"Boromir, come to the front with me," Mithrandir called patiently and Boromir gave her a sad look before walking in the Wizard's direction, leaving her to stare down Aragorn with a glare.

"You should not be so rude," she demeaned, the playfulness extinguished from her voice. "I realize that you dislike him, but that is not a good enough reason to disrespect him as you do. He is the rightful heir to the position of Steward of Gondor, and he will be important on your Council."

He glared back at her without qualm, even used his height as an advantage against her. She had never been considered a short Elf, but with Aragorn's strong build, his straightened back made her feel small and inconsequential, though she would never admit it to him. "Do not make fun of me, woman," he growled. "We both know that I do not and will not have a council and –"

"With your stance like this, you are sure to," she retorted, arching her eyebrow in a challenge. "Since when have you decided that 'woman' would be an appropriate name for me? I do not like it."

"Do not call me King. _I_ do not like _it_."

Arathell could only glare at him, beginning to follow the company and leave Aragorn to take up the rear, even though he had asked her to. Both of these Men were absolutely infuriating. One teased to the point she felt like a child, and the other didn't even bother to do that – merely taking it away before she could even think to ask. She didn't even think that Boromir realized how frustrated she was with the situation, laughing it off as joke. Aragorn knew her frustration, but he did nothing to soothe it.

"Arathell?" an airy voice asked, and she looked down to see Frodo looking curiously at her. She gave him a hum in response. "It's nothing," he said with a small blush. "I only thought that you could use a friend. You seem angry," he commented.

At this, she couldn't help but smile ever-so-slightly. "You have keen eyes, Master Baggins."

He nodded and looked down at the path, finding the best place to put his oversized feet. The trail was becoming harder to walk, and in the distance, she could very easily see the point where the path turned to mounds of sparkling, white snow. "You know my uncle very well," the Hobbit said offhandedly. "He didn't speak much of his adventures with the Dwarves, but I know that he misses them greatly. It seems strange that he could look at them as family more so than some of his actual relatives." She arched an eyebrow at him, doubting very seriously that Bilbo didn't love Frodo the way he loved the Dwarves. "We have distant relations," Frodo explained with a sigh. "Once, I believe he would have gotten along with them. But not anymore. His mind is too full of other things that I don't understand at all."

"I am sure that the day will come soon that you will understand, Frodo," she said softly. "Taking part in such grand adventures like your uncle… it leaves its mark on you. The things he has seen and been a part of are things that you and I could never hope to dream of, even with him whispering the stories in our ears. My daughter is similar; she was with him."

"So it is true that you adopted a Dwarf?" he asked incredulously.

"It matters not. When this journey is over, you will be more bonded to the nine of us than you will be to anyone in the Shire."

Frodo remained silent after those words, seeming to contemplate them carefully; either that or focusing on his footing, which was equally, if not more important. As an Elf, she rarely had to trifle so much, trusting his instincts and resting her feet wherever her legs decided to rest them.

It wasn't much longer before the dirt of the path disappeared and light dustings of snow were under her feet. She frowned at the sight, knowing that it was only going to get worse from this point forward. She cast another glance at Frodo who was still walking quietly beside her. Arathell couldn't help but wonder if this path really would kill the Halflings. Cold did not settle well in anyone's bones, but theirs were smaller and more prone to defeat than hers were. She considered asking him, but he seemed too involved in his own thoughts and she decided to let him be.

The other Hobbits were all talking amiably with Gimli, who seemed just as taken with them as she did. Perhaps it was the size relativity. Gimli would of course take pride in not being the smallest out of the Company. Legolas and Gandalf remained at the head of the party, quietly discussing patterns and future paths that they might take. Boromir was with the Hobbits, but he seemed rather withdrawn and tired, just by judging the hunch in his broad shoulders. And she didn't bother to look back at Aragorn, who she was still very frustrated with.

The snow was getting heavier under her feet, bit she kept her footing well enough, as did her other Elven companion. Everyone else's feet dropped several inches into the snow, making it difficult for them to move at the pace she was sure Gandalf wanted them to be moving at.

It seemed like hours later when the snow's crunching sound exploded with a thud, Frodo falling in deep and rolling backwards on the downhill slope.

"Frodo!" Aragorn yelled, rushing through the harsh snow to catch him before he fell any further. Arathell was quick to join them, reaching down to help hoist Frodo up through the cold, only to see that Aragorn had beaten her to it. She glared up at him casually, seeing him return it without a thought. If anything, he seemed bored with her glare. Before she could say anything, she noticed Frodo fumbling around his neck, looking frantic.

He glanced up to where he had originally fallen, and she beheld the Ring, still stuck firmly on its chain necklace, staring up at her through the snow. Her hand reached out on its own accord, grabbing onto one of them, though she could not take her eyes off of the Ring to see who she held in her tight grasp. The same fear as always gripped her tightly and made it harder for her to breathe, and she squeezed the arm tighter.

Arathell watched with fear as Boromir bent over to pick up the chain, staring intently at the Ring. She swallowed hard and squeezed the body next to her harder still. Boromir seemed enchanted by its spell while all she could feel was sickness residing in the depths of her stomach. Everything in her screamed and recoiled at the sight of the ghastly thing, but she held her ground and stared, as if that would make her less afraid of the power that it contained.

The whole Company had stopped at this point, watching with baited breath as to what Boromir would do. Even little Merry and Pippin looked slightly frightened, while Sam looked murderous. The Dwarf, Wizard, and Elf all looked with intrigue, wondering how this Man of Gondor would fight the power of the Ring.

"Boromir," Aragorn called, trying to drag him from the depths, but he would not listen.

"It is a strange thing that we should suffer so much fear and doubt," he said in a murmur, his voice carried over to them by the wind. Arathell fought back a shiver at the sound of the words. "Over so small a thing," he commented. She watched with wide eyes as his hand went up to touch the weapon. "Such a little thing," he purred, so seduced by the power.

Unable to stop herself, she gasped out, "Boromir!" drawing his attention back to the present. Only then did she realize that Aragorn had made a call at him as well, and he stared at them both confused, but with anger so obviously portrayed that he did not bother to hide it.

"Give the Ring to Frodo," Aragorn told him firmly and she nodded in agreement.

He hesitated for a moment and she fought to soften her gaze, making eye contact with him. "Boromir?" she whispered, and he acknowledged her with a snappy, quick nod.

Boromir trekked forward carefully, his hand outstretched, putting distance in between himself and the Ring. But his eyes followed it closely as it strayed within Frodo's grasp. She held her breath, waiting for it to be in Frodo's possession once more. "As you wish," Boromir drawled, sounding every bit as cocky as a Lord of Gondor would be. It was made so clear in that sentence just how beneath him Frodo was, how beneath him everything surrounding him was, even her to an extent. Her brows furrowed as she found her new glaring target, and though words of kindness drifted through her mind of understanding calm, she couldn't fight the disappointment she felt. Frodo's hand snapped out to grab the Ring and he stared at Boromir with fear, Aragorn's hand placed firmly on the Hobbit's shoulder and then falling from it. "I care not," Boromir drawled again. He traded glances with Aragorn, and there must have been something burning in the Ranger's eyes, because Boromir reached out to ruffle Frodo's hair before backing away and turning back to walk with the Company. She was sure that he could feel them all staring but he didn't comment on their rogue eyes, just as they did not comment on his rogue mind.

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 **There it is! Let me know what you think, as always! And check out the music - this one is for Boromir! AND LET'S GET TO 200 REVIEWS! WOOP WOOP!**

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 **\- LM**


	35. Chapter 35

**Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for the wonderful response! I was honestly floored when a new reader, WickedGreene13 went and reviewed for EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER! THANK YOU BUNCHES! Also, as such Wicked is the lovely winner of the 200 reviewer challenge! The one-shot is called "Maybe I'll Stay" and features two original characters that have a spotlight scene about hair. Please go check it out! It is pretty good, if I do say so myself! And remember: the 300 th reviewer is also going to get their own one-shot so let's get to 300! We are a third of the way there already! Haha**

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 _ **This chapter picks up RIGHT WHERE THE LAST ONE ENDED!**_

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Peter Jackson – just Arathell. (and others who are not included in this chapter)**

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Part Three – We Barely Make It

Fall Out Boy - Just One Yesterday

"If heaven's grief brings hell's rain  
Then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday"

 _Boromir trekked forward carefully, his hand outstretched, putting distance in between himself and the Ring. But his eyes followed it closely as it strayed within Frodo's grasp. She held her breath, waiting for it to be in Frodo's possession once more. "As you wish," Boromir drawled, sounding every bit as cocky as a Lord of Gondor would be. It was made so clear in that sentence just how beneath him Frodo was, how beneath him everything surrounding him was, even her to an extent. Her brows furrowed as she found her new glaring target, and though words of kindness drifted through her mind of understanding calm, she couldn't fight the disappointment she felt. Frodo's hand snapped out to grab the Ring and he stared at Boromir with fear, Aragorn's hand placed firmly on the Hobbit's shoulder and then falling from it. "I care not," Boromir drawled again. He traded glances with Aragorn, and there must have been something burning in the Ranger's eyes, because Boromir reached out to ruffle Frodo's hair before backing away and turning back to walk with the Company. She was sure that he could feel them all staring but he didn't comment on their rogue eyes, just as they did not comment on his rogue mind._

Arathell finally turned and gave her full attention to Frodo, noticing now that she had been holding onto Aragorn's arm in a vice-like grip, though he did not say anything to her. She released him instantly and reached to grab Frodo gently. "Are you hurt?" she demanded instantly, feeling the mother in her reach the surface, wanting to take care of the Hobbit.

"I am fine," he replied in that airy voice of his.

"Are you sure?" she asked again. "You will not get any sympathy from me if I learn later that you are lying," she warned, arching an eyebrow.

"I am not hurt," Frodo assured before walking on ahead, though making sure to stay at a distance from Boromir. It was clear that the Hobbit didn't trust the Gondorian, and as sad as it was for her to even think it, it was wise of Frodo not to trust him. Boromir had done nothing but test and disagree with every decision that had been made thus far, even before they left Rivendell.

Arathell lowered her head, feeling unsure of anything and everything. Boromir was a good Man. It was so clear to see, yet everyone denied it and he did nothing to try to prove them wrong either. She always considered herself to be one of the most loyal beings on Middle Earth and it was even something that she prided herself on. And she would stay loyal to Boromir as long as he continued to give her reason to. She would tolerate a lot from him, and she would believe in his good intentions until the day that she died, but she also knew that if he did not care enough to preserve what little good-standing he had left with the rest of the Company, anything she had to say in his defense would not go a very long way. Only he could change all of their opinions, and there was nothing that she could do that would make them all see the side of him that she was able to see. But even then, she thought with a frown, she wasn't even able to see that side much anymore.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she flinched at the touch, but did not push it away. "Please do not say anything, Aragorn. Not this time," she whispered, her head still hanging low.

"What do you think I would say?" he asked in such a gentle voice, it almost made things worse.

"That I should not trust him and that he will be the one who will be the downfall of the Fellowship and his value on this quest is hurriedly disappearing and it will not be long before he becomes a burden that we all must watch and guard to make sure he does not do anything foolhardy," she replied in a breath, choking on the last syllables. Aragorn stayed quiet, validating her words. "I understand that he is troubled by the presence of the Ring, Aragorn. I know that his mind grows darker every day, and I do not need a gift in order to know that. But I do not want to lose him," she whimpered, feeling weaker and weaker by the moment. "He is good; I promise. He can speak so gently and with so much love, and there is no one he could not find some redeeming quality in. All you see is a Man losing his mind to corruption, but I see a Man breaking and tearing, and it hurts me to see it. I want to do something to help him, but I do not know what to do. I speak to him and it is so hard to remember all of the smiles and hidden looks we shared. I wish we could go back to that time, but I do not know how to."

"I will be the last Man to question your judgment, Arathell," Aragorn soothed, trudging through the snow and slowly pulling her along with him, though she barely noticed. "If you believe that his heart is good, I will not doubt you. But what you say is true; we lose more and more of him every day, and someday, I fear that it will be too hard to bring him back from the brink that he already stands on. His heart may be good, but it is not strong." She wasn't sure what to say to those words, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly with no words coming to her lips. "When the time comes that he is lost, Arathell, and that time will come, you must be ready to let him go. You must be ready to accept that he is beyond our help."

"Do you think that I am going to give up on him?" she demanded, feeling as though he had slapped her.

He chuckled mirthlessly and stared at her calmly. "You would not come from the lineage you do if you gave up on him. I expect you to fight for his sanity. I expect you to hold him away from the edge and to keep him enraptured with you. Maybe it will be enough. Believe me; I would love to be wrong about this. Maybe you would be the one to keep him tethered. Maybe it will be the idea of a future with you that keeps him from going down the wrong path. But I do not think it will be that way. He may claim to love you, but Love and Obsession may both favor different muses, and do not think that you will always be the object of both."

"You think he would choose the Ring over me?" she asked him, feeling the anger that was in her dwindle as fear and hurt took hold in her soul. She didn't want to lose Boromir in any way, but she especially did not want to lose him in that way. He was the first to look past her lineage and see _her_. He was the first to see past the beauty of Arwen and see her ruffled appearance. Arathell Duvainith was selfish when it came to Boromir of Gondor, and she wanted him to stay.

"I wish I did not think that, but I do," Aragorn agreed with a sigh. "The Ring is powerful, and you must remember that. Whoever he is without it around cannot be compared to how he is around the Ring. The Ring manifests itself in his mind, and there is nothing else that can find its way in. You saw how difficult it was today for him to give the Ring back to Frodo. We are not even halfway to Middle Earth and he struggles this much for it."

"And you do not think that I can bring him back?" she whispered. "You think I cannot save him?"

"Prove me wrong, Arathell. Please prove me wrong. I only wish joy for you, and if it is in this Man that you find that joy, then please prove me wrong. The world is too hurt already to have to see you broken at the hands of one who is not even the Enemy."

She smirked ruefully and huffed as the wind pushed against her body harder. "I assume we are past the disagreement we had earlier today?" she mentioned lightly, not eager to start another fight. Already, the distance between her and Boromir was growing by the hour, and she refused to lose everyone who was important to her. There already were so few of those people left, and she couldn't afford to lose another.

He let out a stray laugh that evoked a larger smile from her. "You should know that it is rather hard for me to stay terribly angry with you, Arathell, regardless of what you do."

She chuckled. "I will definitely remember that the next time we have a disagreement then," she teased.

He nodded, the smile still a grand expression on his face. "I don't ever remember us having this many disagreements before though," he stated, and her smile slowly fell from her lips, and she watched as it did the same for him. "In fact, before we left Rivendell, I think there was only one instance where we ever fought."

"After our first duel," she agreed. "We moved past it quickly."

"It did not matter then," he added.

She cast a glance at him. "It did matter, but I decided that it was not critical enough at that moment for us to keep fighting about it. And then, I also really wanted to spar with you again, and I would not be able to do that if we were still angry with each other. I was worried I would accidentally kill you if I was still in my rage."

"It would have been you to have been killed, Arathell," he remarked with that faint trace of a crooked smile that made her feel warm will all of the memories of a time where the world was not so evil. She could still remember when it was still something that resided in the distance away from their constant thoughts. It was happier than.

Arathell vigorously shook her head. "You would never hurt me," she told him with a warm smile. "You have always been in better control of your emotions than I ever have. You would not have let yourself go so far as to actually hurt me."

"I've hurt you before," he told her.

She shrugged. "Cuts and bruises and even broken bones are not what I would consider to be true hurt. I can heal easily from hurts like that. You have never hurt me in some of the ways that I have been hurt." She grew silent for a moment, thinking distinctly of Arwen. Sometimes – well more than sometimes – she wondered how the world saw Arwen as the queen as she appeared when her words were sharper than any other she had encountered. She would gladly have taken Thorin Oakenshield over her sister any day. To know though that Aragorn had given his heart to her sister was perhaps the only thing that had truly hurt Arathell. Her best friend – her confidant – loved the person who had hurt her the most.

"You are thinking of Arwen," he said with a grunt.

She didn't meet his gaze. "I thought you did not like me bringing her into conversation so often. You cannot get mad at me for doing something you apparently cannot resist either."

"I am not mad, Arathell," he groaned. "I was making a comment, not an accusation."

She clicked her tongue but did not argue. "How did you know I was thinking of her then?" she asked.

He sighed and gave her a sad look. "You gain this dismal expression on your face. She was the one to hurt you the most, wasn't she?" Arathell nodded briefly. "You won't ever tell me what she did to cause you this pain?" he tried again, as he had done for decades now, but she had refused him every time.

It was not something for him to know about his lover. Arwen would reveal her true self in time and then Aragorn would know Arathell's hurt without being able to blame Arathell for causing it. "Maybe someday you will know what she did to hurt me. Maybe you won't. It does not matter. My hurts do not need to become yours."

"They would not hurt so much if you shared them with others."

"My brothers know the story well enough," she justified.

"And they only recently bothered to reach for you again. You have said nothing of your pain to them other than the conversation you had with them hours before we departed Rivendell." Her head snapped to him, wondering how he knew that. "They told me while they were bidding farewell to me," he explained.

"Do you look at them as brothers?" she asked curiously, eager for the subject of their conversation to be moved away from her sister and the pain Arwen had caused her.

Aragorn gave a thoughtful look. "They taught me much of what I know. I respect them just as highly as I respect your father. But they were grown by the time I was born, and I never saw them as siblings. I never saw any of you as siblings. I saw you as people to learn from and people who had the knowledge and the ability to teach if I asked nicely enough."

"You never asked for my help," she complained.

"It is not very fitting for a Man to ask help from a Woman when it comes to skills in combat," he countered easily enough.

"I am better than both of them in the province of war," she reminded, though he already knew this. He had beaten both Elladan and Elrohir dozens of times in sparring practice, while the twins had managed to score few wins, even when paired together against the Ranger.

"How was I supposed to know this at the tender age of twenty?" he rounded with a twinkle in his eye. "They taught me well enough anyways," he continued with a smug smile. "If I am able to beat you, even only part of the time, then they have done their job well at teaching me."

She conceded that point with a nod and stared up ahead. "We are almost to the mountain," she said uneasily. "I have never had the desire to come this way before, and I have always found ways around it. Aside from one dreadful experience, of course – do you remember? You were with me."

"Yes, I remember quite well. We were with my people. You had joined us in our search for Gollum," he replied with a fond smile.

"For a time," she agreed. "And then I became bored. I never understood why we needed to go this way."

"It was the fastest and we did not want to lose him," he pointed out.

"Yes, yes, yes, but you were also abandoning his trail completely in hopes that you would somehow find it again on the other side of the mountain. You were in great need of luck, and I grew bored with the cold and the smell of your Men."

"They were enraptured with you," he commented with a chuckle.

She shivered, thinking of one particular Man who had been rather vigorous in his pursuits. Aragorn had had to threaten him harshly. "Yes, he was another deciding factor that caused me to leave your company."

"Nevertheless, it was clear that you hated this pass. You were used to being on your own and it was easier to hide. Here and now, we are ten, and some of us are larger around the middle than others and slower as well. The skill and cunning of the Elves is not with all of us."

"It is with you well enough, Aragorn. You do not need to pretend otherwise." Again, he gave her that crooked smile that coaxed a smile from her as well. "I would like to spar with you again," she commented lightheartedly, despite the wind pushing against her skin faster. "It has been too long."

"It has not yet been a month since we last sparred," he retorted. "We have gone much longer than this without sparring."

Arathell sighed and tucked a hair behind her ear. "I cannot explain why I miss it, but I do," she said. "With all of the stress that seems to be radiating off of everyone, I wish that there was some way to relax their tender nerves. Perhaps if they saw you and I making light and merry, they would be more comfortable doing so as well?" she suggested, though she knew that her answer did not come close to why she really missed sparring with him. She did not know why, as she had told him, but she knew that everyone's frayed nerves were the last things on her mind. She was still a selfish Elf, after all.

Aragorn seemed to know that as well and he gave her a dubious look. "If we find the time to spar, I will gladly do so with you, Arathell. You know that I would never turn you down for practice. We keep one another in balance with our skills and exploit the areas we both need to focus harder on."

She gave him a smile, thankful that he did not question her further on her reasoning. "The last time we sparred, my ankle was swollen for days from when you hit it with your pommel."

He shrugged. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to lash out and kick me in the face either. The second time you tried, I wasn't going to let my nose be bloodied any further."

"I could not walk!" she exclaimed playfully. "I hobbled like a gimp of a Man!"

"And I looked like a Dwarf of Erebor!" he retorted.

"Insolent Man," she begrudged with a huff.

"Reckless woman," he taunted back.

"I told you not to call me that," she reminded.

He shook his head, his breathing starting to hasten as the hike was getting more tiring for him. She was sure that the others aside from Legolas were doing far worse. "I think that it suits you," he claimed. "And if you continue to pursue Boromir the way that you are, it seems that it will be more accurate than it even is now."

Arathell's feet shuffled along uncomfortably, and she nearly tripped by the time all of his words had been spoken. She avoided meeting his gaze, looking down at where her feet could not push themselves under the growing snow, and seeing very clearly how Aragorn was slowly being devoured by the force of nature. "I have thought about it," she commented. Now it was his turn to stumble, though she couldn't be sure if that was because of her words or whether he was beginning to struggle with his footing. "I have often wondered what it would be like to forsake the gift the Valar have given me. Not just my ability to see into others' minds, but the gift of being an Elf in general. There are not many of us left here anymore, and each one is precious beyond measure, even the breed Legolas belongs to. We are either dying or abandoning the posts we have held for thousands of years. It seems wrong to do such a thing, and I will not deny that I would much rather remain here where the world is more or less predictable. It is all I have ever known. Kara is here," she added. "I do not want to go to a place where she cannot."

"It sounds as if you would elect to give up your immortality even if you did not have Boromir," Aragorn commented, sounding colder and wearier by the minute, though he hid it well.

Arathell shrugged. "It had not been such a grand thought in my head much before Boromir came into my life. He made me consider it, and I think that ultimately, I will forsake my heritage." The words came out hollow and she had to swallow. "I have never said that aloud before," she murmured, mostly to herself. They paused in their trek and Aragorn looked at her with a concerned expression. He rested his hand on hers, squeezing it painfully tight, but it helped. She blinked back the tears she didn't know were there and met his gaze calmly. "I simply do not know if I would give it up for him or for another reason, like Kara."

"You would be free to be with him either way," he reminded her.

Arathell threw him a glance before focusing once more on ascending the mountain. "I like him very much, Aragorn. But Love is such a word that I do not know what it really feels like. I know how it feels in relation to my daughter – that much is clear to me. But when it comes to another individual completely free to me to choose my level of liking, I do not know anything."

"The same basic principles apply surely," he offered. "You would do anything for him. To see him smile makes you smile. His hurts are your hurts. You do not need the constant touch of him to know that he is there, and sometimes talking relieves pains more than touches do. You value everything there is about him. You cannot think of another you could be with, even with his darker aspects. You wish nothing more than to be beside him always. Make him the best that he can be." He shrugged though now he would not meet her gaze. "It seems quite simple really."

Arathell pondered his words, staring up at Boromir curiously. "If that is what Love is supposed to feel like then I do not feel it with him. Some of those aspects apply, I suppose, but I hate that he falls for the Ring as he does. And when we talk… sometimes it just leaves me hollow. When we kiss, there are explosions of emotions and it feels exhilarating, but if talking should evoke such a thing as well, even in a lesser degree… then I do not feel that with him. It does not mean that I never will," she continued. "But it does only prove that I am not one to fall for another so easily. I am not like my kin who can see their One and know it is them upon first meeting them."

"It does not mean anything other than that you wish to be sure that you really love someone. I think that it is a good thing you think the way that you do. Involving your mind in decisions is just as important as involving your heart, Arathell," he comforted.

Arathell stared at him for a moment. "Only I do not ordinarily use my heart for thinking anyway."

Aragorn frowned. "I disagree. You chose to let Kara go because you wanted her to be free. You wanted her to be able to enjoy the world and all that it offers. It was because you knew that you could not give her those things. It was something that she needed to experience for herself with others like her. You knew that logically it made the best sense to keep her in Rivendell where it was safe and you could still watch over her. But you let her go, even if it caused you great pain, you let her go because you knew that was what you had to do to make her happy. And she is very happy now, as I'm sure you are aware..."

* * *

 **There it is! Let me know what you think and check out the music as always! Are there any thoughts about this chapter? Any questions? More importantly... any guesses? I'm curious!**

 **Also, don't forget to check out (cough cough and review cough cough) "Maybe I'll Stay." It is super cute and super fluffy and I really enjoyed writing it!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **\- LM**


	36. Chapter 36

**Hello, my friends! Thanks for all of your kind reviews! We are almost halfway to 300! That is just so crazy – thanks to all for making it happen! And thanks to those who favorited and followed!**

 **So, as has been brought up by some reviewers… there is a new ship in town, folks. And its name is Ara-squared. Or Aras – whichever you all prefer. Aras would be easier… not confirming anything, of course, but just wanted to make the readers aware… Teehee**

 **ALSO NOTICE: You may or may not have noticed that I have upped the rating on this story to M. I will not say exactly why, though if you recall, there was some worrying that I had for all of the violence in this story. Perhaps it could be for this reason. Or maybe there is a scene that I just finished writing that is not exactly T rated. Just because this chapter does not contain any such issues, I wanted to give new readers the incoming knowledge of what they can POTENTIALLY expect from this story. Thanks for being understanding, and if you are concerned, feel free to leave a review/PM. :)**

 **Hope everyone had a better Valentine's than I did – I am currently SUPER sick haha. But if you live in America, I hope everyone has a great President's Day! I'm just stoked that I don't have to go to class and can rest up some more haha.**

 **ONE LAST THING: THIS PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE THE OTHER LEFT OFF!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Peter Jackson – just Arathell. (and others who are not included in this chapter)**

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Part Three – We Barely Make It

Slash (feat. Myles Kennedy and The Conspirators) - We Will Roam

"And still we roam  
Now forevermore  
Tread the night on steel and stone  
And still we roam  
Never asking more  
Where we are will be our home  
Our home"

She sighed and looked ahead. "The way is getting colder," she told him. "The Hobbits are slowing down, and we cannot afford to let them stop. Come along; we cannot be so far behind," she ordered, moving forward to stand beside Sam. He jumped at her presence and then went back to shivering. She cast a glance at his bare feet, thinking again of how much discomfort he had to be going through. "Sam?" she asked, silently probing him for his condition. His nose was turning at a steady rate from rosy pink to a pale white to blue, and his lips were even worse.

The snow had begun to fall at this point, making his hair even look cold with the white clinging to it. Apparently he wasn't even warm enough for his body to melt the snow that touched him. "I'm quite fine, Miss Thellie," he shivered aloud, hugging himself tightly. "I can handle it. You should worry more about Mr. Frodo; he looks absolutely dreadful."

Arathell looked at the Hobbit in question, and it was true that he looked awful. He looked to be fairing about the same amount as Merry and Pippin, and neither of them were in great condition. However before she could call out to any of them, Boromir came to swoop up Merry and Pippin into his arms, holding them close to feed them some of his own heat. And Aragorn moved just as quickly to smother Frodo properly, picking him up and hugging him tightly to his chest like a baby.

With that, she turned to look at Sam with as good of a smug expression as she could muster in the cold. "It seems that they have been attended to," she said, proud that the Men hadn't needed prompting to do such a task. "All who is left would be you."

She assumed that he blushed as he became a lesser shade of blue as he trudged on. "I'm slightly heavier than the three of them – perhaps the three of them combined, Thellie."

Arathell waved her hand away and knelt down in front of him. "I am an Elf, Master Gamgee," she said proudly. "We are of stronger make than Men. Climb on my back; I will carry you as long as I can bear you. And I can assure you that I do not tire easily." She could practically feel the Hobbit hesitating behind her and she sighed. "Samwise, if you do not climb onto my back within this very moment, I'm going to have to drag you the distance, and neither of us would be appreciative." She felt the heavy weight of Sam suddenly on her back and she couldn't deny that her knees shook a little when she clambered back to her feet. Once she stood, her feet sunk low into the snow, the weight of the Hobbit sinking her to the point where only her hips were able to be seen.

The snow got progressively deeper to the point where her breasts and above were the only places not covered with snow, and even that was a loose term. She felt the cold starting to sink into her bones, and she was sure that Sam was able to tell that she was getting tired, but he knew better than to doubt her abilities. She told him she would carry him until she could no longer bear him anymore. If she had anything to say about when that would be, then she would be dead before she rested him back in the snow.

So she kept her eyes straight ahead to focus on the back of someone's head. She could not tell if it was Aragorn or Boromir from the angle, and the snow that was blustering against her face and in front of her eyes obscured even her vision. Legolas had taken lead of the Company, his feet still resting lightly on the snow, and she wasn't sure if she envied him or was thankful for her depth in the snow. The snow blocked her from the cold wind, but it also seeped into each and every one of her fine pores, making her slowly feel like she was drowning.

They continued on, pushing and groaning as the snow built and built against them. The wind was fouler than ever and her footing that was regularly so sure was slick and she worried for Sam more than she worried for herself. "Keep calm, mellon nin," she grunted to him when he squirmed. "Moving ceaselessly does not help our cause." He all but froze on her back, tightening every muscle around her thin neck and narrow shoulders. In fact, she was quite positive that his shoulders were broader than hers, making it all the more uncomfortable. "Now, do not act like a rock – it makes you heavier for me to carry. Hold on loosely and trust me a little please," she instructed, and his tight grip was slowly relinquished and she marched with a little more confidence, closer to the Men. She was unsure of where Gimli was, but she assumed that he was trailing close to Gandalf – the only real being he trusted on this venture out of any of them.

The path they trekked on was getting smaller, she noticed. She did not like it at all. She hugged the side of the mountain with everything in her, the wind trying to blow her in the other direction. Everything in her was freezing slowly and she watched with downright fear as lightning touched the top of the mountain. "Thellie?" Sam whispered in her ear, having seen it as well. She had never heard someone as brave as Sam sound that terrified. She could only imagine the expression on his face, and she clenched his legs to her form tighter, refusing to let him go.

"No, hush," she snapped back. "Focus on me, Sam. Tell me about the Shire."

"I feel quite tired actually and I feel like I have already told you everything," he mentioned.

"Do not go to sleep, Samwise Gamgee. You are not allowed to go to sleep. Do you understand me? Tell me everything again," she demanded harshly, only now having understood how detrimental this plan was to the Hobbits. She had no idea how the other three were doing, but they were much smaller than Sam in many regards, and if Sam felt as cold as he did, then she did not know how much hope was left for his fellow three companions.

"Why?"

She gnawed on her lip for a moment before deciding to be brutally honest. "You may not wake up."

Sam was quiet and she wondered if he had actually fallen asleep anyway, and just before she was about to shake him awake, he burst into tales. "I'm a gardener in the Shire, Miss Thellie…"

"There is a fell voice on the air," she heard Legolas distantly say, and she immediately hushed Sam's story, reminding him to stay awake. She listened carefully, closing her eyes for a moment to concentrate solely on the sounds around her. The wind was heavy in her ears, but beneath the hiss and moan of it, she heard a deeper, resonating sound that made her very soul shake. And it was a voice that she knew too well.

"Saruman," she whispered to herself.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf yelled, completely enraged. He had already described to her the depths of the betrayal of Saruman, but it seemed that their own Istar still was pained to be reminded of them. She understood that well enough, she supposed. It was awful to go for one's entire life with the impression that your friends would always remain that way, only to be reminded that they could be just as cruel and heartless as the rest of the world. Gandalf had refused to believe that Saruman was capable of this treachery, and she knew that having to confront it on his own only made the betrayal worse in the end.

The mountain shook with fury and she watched as several large rocks tumbled free from their crevices, ready to land right on them. She grunted and pushed Sam into the wall of the mountain, trying to shield him with her body as best as she could.

When the rocks grazed past them, leaving all of them behind, she heard Aragorn yell to Gandalf, "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" the Wizard yelled back, looking furious at the thought. Gandalf climbed up and above the snow to stand beside Legolas, shouting back to the distant Wizard counter-curses of his own, though she was quite sure that they did not help against the stronger power of Saruman.

The battle of curses did not last long and with one fell strike of lightening, heaps of snow were falling, and just as she pushed herself and Sam into the mountain, snow covered them all completely. She yelped at the cold that ran down her already drenched shirt and squeezed tight to Sam to reassure herself that he was still there. She kicked her legs defiantly when she felt him and pushed her body out of the snow, making sure that Sam was there with her. "Sam!" she gasped when the cold air hit her lungs. "Tell me you can breathe!"

He coughed maniacally, small bits of what she presumed to be ice spat from his voice. "I'm alive," he muttered weakly. He was shivering more violently than ever, and she knew that she was just as cold as he was. She pushed herself forward, closer to the others until she came alongside Aragorn.

"He's cold," she shivered, pushing her body into Aragorn. He wasted no time in taking Sam from her and putting him close to Frodo who looked like the embodiment of Death. Aragorn surprised her further when he grabbed hold of her and rested his freezing fingers on her face, inspecting her. "I am alright," she breathed and allowed him to be pull her close, huddled with the Hobbits. The Hobbit mass was shaking so heavily and Arathell and Aragorn surrounded them hurriedly, trying to cover them all with what little heat they each had left.

Everyone else had erupted from the snow as well, complaining and moaning at the cold. She wished that she could hear Merry and Pippin, but they were as silent as the grave. "The others," she mentioned.

"Boromir is holding them," Aragorn told her. "He would know if one of them was…"

"Dead?" Frodo exclaimed, his voice hoarse.

"Hush," Arathell told him, looking at Gandalf and waiting for him to tell them what they needed to do. "We should not stay here," she said to Aragorn. "Sam is freezing, and the others can only be worse off."

He nodded his head weakly. "I cannot speak for Boromir, but I cannot go much further if this is what we are going to be faced with."

She smacked his arm hard, or as hard as she could with her numb hand, unsure if he could even feel it. "Do not say that. You are strong enough for this," she snapped.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir yelled, bringing the two of them back to the matter at hand. "Make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the West Road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn disagreed and she nodded her head weakly, holding Sam and Frodo closer to her.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it," Gimli growled from wherever he resided. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

Gandalf deliberated for a moment, and she shivered, falling closer to Aragorn who wrapped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm, though it didn't do much good. "Let the Ringbearer decide," he finally announced in a grave voice. She knew that the tunnels of Moria were no safer than the path that they were on now, but if Saruman persisted this way, there was no hope for any of them to get away from this path alive.

"Frodo," she sighed, hugging him and Sam into herself and Aragorn.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir continued, impatient for an answer. "This will be the death of the Hobbits!" he barked sounding just as desperate for himself as he was for the Halflings.

"Frodo," Gandalf called, sounding dismal.

"We will go through the mines," Frodo announced, surprisingly clear for how cold he was.

"So be it," she heard Gandalf murmur and they slowly turned themselves around to walk back the way that they came. They kept the Hobbits moderately high enough through the snow, but it didn't seem to be helping them and it wasn't until the snow slowed to a stop did there seem to be any progress. The wind still howled furiously, but it was less biting without the snow being scraped across the whitened faces.

When the wind quieted, she felt like she was finally able to breathe again, and the others actually vomited.

Arathell rested herself weakly on the bed of snow, watching the others carefully lay out their bedrolls. It was still too cold, but Gandalf had given them a warming spell that dissolved some of the snow around them to keep the wet chill from getting into their covers.

"You need to get up, Arathell," Legolas chimed, pulling her to her feet without a thought. "And you need to change into warmer clothes."

"I am not changing in front of everyone, Legolas," she sighed. "And my clothes are all as dry as they are ever going to be without walking through fire. I will live just fine without your help."

"Why must you be so stubborn when people try to give you help?"

"Because I can take care of myself," she retorted. "Now, if you will please excuse me, there is still some meat left from our moose that I was planning to cook for the others. They have not eaten in a while, and they need to warm up. A fire would do them good."

"The Crebain may be able to see it," he reminded. "The snow will not be a good camouflage for a fire."

"The Crebain are not brave enough to come so close to the mountain – regardless of what Saruman promises them. They are ultimately free spirits and can choose to do as they please."

"They are evil."

"They are selfish. They will not put themselves in danger if they do not have to. The reward does not outweigh the risk in this case. And even if it did, our reward of warmth for the Hobbits does outweigh the risk of them telling Saruman that we are retreating." She looked back at the passage they came from. "It is still storming there, meaning that Saruman still has his eye focused on it. He does not yet know that we have left. They need to be warmed and if Saruman finds out, then he finds out. There is not much that that Wizard can do to us whilst we are in Moria anyways."

Legolas conceded the point and walked with her back to their makeshift camp. Gandalf helped her with the fire and when she withdrew the small tendrils of food that she had saved from the previous night, there were hoarse cries of joy, specifically from the Hobbits. She warmed the meat hurriedly before giving the four of them shreds. "I wish that moose was bigger," she commented when the last of it was gone. Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and she would survive well enough with the little food they had had the night previous, but she knew that the Men were hungry.

"I saved some as well," Aragorn mentioned, taking his own strips out to warm them. Hesitantly, he gave one to Boromir who took it without a word of thanks and rapidly shoved it into him, coughing at the heat that attacked his throat. She frowned at the sight but was happy nonetheless that the two of them had had the chance to eat.

"We make for Hollin again before noon today," Gandalf instructed, breathing into his pipe. "From there, we turn to Moria. It is early enough as it is, and we make to leave at first daylight. You should rest while you can. You will not have many opportunities to sleep on this journey from now on. Our steps are being watched and we must take rest where we can."

"How much sleep are we allowed?" Merry coughed, though he did look substantially better after his small meal. Sitting by the fire, he looked as if he had regained some of his rosiness around his cheeks again.

"The sun rises in four hours," Legolas told him, and like a spell had been placed upon them, three Hobbits crawled instantly into little balls and closed their eyes. Their snoring could be heard only a minute later and she smiled at the sound before she noticed that Sam had been the only one to not go to sleep.

He was giving her a worried look, staring at his companions with a fear in him she could easily identify. "Sam," she called to him, drawing his gaze away from his friends. "They are warm. They will wake. As will you. You need your rest. I promise that I will not let anything happen to you. Go to sleep. You have been tired for hours."

He still didn't look quite certain, but he lied back anyway and in five minutes, he was snoring louder than the rest of them.

With the others still awake, Gimli grumbled quickly that he was not going to be a part of the watch that evening, as he was just as tired at the Halflings were. She nodded at him, as did the others and he went to sleep quickly, his snores mixing with the Hobbits to make a dry, croaky tune that left them chuckling slightly.

They all turned their gaze to Gandalf who was already in the process of nodding off and did not speak. When it was just the four of them, she sighed. "I can take the first watch. I will stay awake for one hour and no longer," she informed them.

"No, Arathell, I'll take the first watch," Boromir disagreed. "Sleep. I will wake you in an hour." Despite hating being told what to do, she couldn't find it within her to fight him and rested herself down on the bedroll with a groan as her bones sunk into the little padding there was. The world went black within moments.

* * *

 **There it is! I hope you all like it! Check out the music as always!**

 **And we are getting closer and closer to some heavy romance here! So exciting!**


	37. Chapter 37

**Hey there, everyone! Thank you for the wonderful response! We are practically halfway to 300 and that is just insane! Thank you for all the of kind words, and thanks also to those who favorite and follow! :D**

 **I love the guesses that you guys are all concocting! Keep them coming, please!**

 **NOW: What you are about to read is a scene that was in the book. I have TOTALLY changed it up. In fact, I do not even have my copy of Fellowship with me at present, so NO FLAMES. I seriously doubt that you guys would do that, but I thought I would throw it out. It has been some time since I have read this particular scene and therefore don't exactly remember how it went in the book. There is a mention of this happening in the Appendices, which is where I derive my timeline. You can look this up there if you wish and you'll see that the scene is mentioned. I am only making it bigger in this chapter and throwing Arathell in which is going to change the dynamic of what actually goes down. This is fanfiction after all. And these sorts of scenes are going to become kinda frequent, so… please do not be angry. Just imagine that this is me pulling a Peter Jackson and making a movie scene out of something that was in the book. :D Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson, just Arathell plus extras that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Slash featuring Myles Kennedy and the Conspirators - Standing in the Sun

"You could be standing out in the Sun  
Still the rain's coming down  
Rain's coming down  
There ain't a cloud in sight  
Still your heart beats cold and grey  
Every day"

 **Early Morning, January 12, 3019 – Base of Caradhras**

A hand grasped her wrist tightly, and she snapped awake, struggling to free her weapon hand. When her eyes only met the stormy grey eyes of Aragorn, she stopped moving so ferociously, and he let go immediately, still kneeling next to her. "What time is it?" she murmured.

"Time to be moving on from this place," he replied. "You can wake Boromir. I'm sure he would appreciate you waking him more than me."

Her brows furrowed and she sat up in her bedroll, looking to the East where the sun was slowly rising. "I was supposed to have second watch," she argued, looking to the Ranger for an explanation.

"You need not worry about us, Arathell," he remarked with a shrug. "You were tired; we could all see it. We decided as a group to allow you to sleep, just like the others. We managed throughout the night, and thus it is now time to go. So hurry along and wake up Boromir. Gandalf wants to be on the road within the next ten minutes."

She huffed in reply but got up, walking to the mass of the Man that was curled tightly over himself, trying to stay warm. She rested her hand on his shoulder and shook gently. He arose softly, blinking away the fogginess of sleep and gave her a tiny smile when he awoke. "I could get used to waking to your face," he whispered and she smiled back at him, feeling closer to him than she had in a long while. Even the kiss they had shared yesterday had had something missing, but with that quietly happy look in his gaze, he looked more like himself and it made her warm inside. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, though I was disappointed to hear that a certain lord decided not to wake me for the second watch as we had agreed," she taunted, arching her eyebrow at him in question.

He coughed out a laugh and sat up and leaned over to press a small kiss to her cheek. "Aragorn thought that it would be a good idea to let you sleep. And I agreed; you had been carrying Sam all day yesterday."

Arathell recoiled and stared at him with a confused expression. "It was Aragorn's idea?" she asked, looking to the Ranger in question who was currently rousing Sam and Frodo from their slumbers.

Boromir shrugged and she looked at her. "I suppose, but it was a good enough idea to not earn any disagreement from Legolas or me."

She nodded, shaking away the strange feeling in her stomach when she stood up, reaching her hand out for the soldier beneath her to take. When she pulled him to his feet, she went back to her bedroll and put it away. When she had finished preparing, she noticed everyone else done as well and beginning to move in the direction of Hollin.

Arathell trudged along without much in particular on her mind. The air was getting warmer the further they got away from the mountain, so she considered that a benefit, but other than that, her mind was empty.

Somewhere between the mountain and Hollin, Boromir sidled up beside her and took her hand, playing with her fingers, but she didn't pay him much heed. His hands were still gloved if she felt him correctly. The velvet was soft on her calloused hand, but it rubbed at her palm in ways that she did not care for, but she allowed him to continue holding her hand. He was doing better today, and that was what was important to her. He was more like the Boromir she had met in Imladris, and she wasn't going to give up the chance to be with him while his mind was still his own.

"You have been quiet today," Boromir remarked when Hollin was finally within their sights.

She cast him a look and sighed. "I do not know what to say. I think I am still rather tired from yesterday's journey," she lied with ease. Truthfully, she couldn't explain why she was so quiet. Ordinarily, or rather ordinarily when she was around Boromir, she was much more talkative and liked discussing things with him. They argued often; it was true, but Arathell had never been the kind of individual to shy away from an argument if one needed to be had. So then why was she not talking?

The velvet from his glove proved too much to bear, and it was making her hand sweaty, so she pulled it away, wiping it down the leather of her tunic to dry it. Boromir looked at her strangely but he did not say anything, thankfully. She did not know what she would say if he asked her anything.

Thoughts were coming quicker to her head now and she deliberated over them dutifully. She had no answers for any of her questions, however, and it frustrated her greatly.

She could not understand why she was acting so strangely around Boromir and why she had no desire to strike up a conversation with him today. She knew that she didn't like holding his hand when he had his velvet gloves on, but then she had never much understood the appeal of holding hands anyway.

The kiss that they had shared yesterday was something else that plagued her thoughts: it wasn't like the kisses they had shared and it had seemed so… one-sided, perhaps. He had taken when she gave so willingly, but he refused to give her anything in return, and she knew that she did not like that. Arathell had always been on rough ground when it came to what Love was supposed to be like, but she did know from watching her parents and grandparents that compromise and mutual consideration was important. And Boromir had not understood that his actions had made her angry.

Furthermore, a part of her was even disappointed and even hurt that it hadn't been Boromir who thought to allow her to sleep through the night without taking a watch. He had seen how weary she was at the end of the day, and it did not always matter what she said otherwise. It disturbed her greatly to know that Boromir could not read her emotions like Aragorn could. And even if he could not, she did not understand why Boromir still had not thought to do the more… chivalrous thing where she was concerned.

Oh, her thoughts were so muddled! Here she was angry about how Boromir did not treat her any differently because of her sex when that was all she had ever wanted! She did not want to be looked at as the damsel in distress, and she did not want to be looked at as being fragile and weak. She could very well take care of herself, and when she said that she could take the second watch last night, she had said it with confidence.

Her once angry thoughts with Boromir switched rapidly to Aragorn and she glared at her new target, huffing and clenching her fists as they got closer and closer to Hollin.

* * *

When they finally reached Hollin under the cover of darkness, she snapped a rude quip to them about hunting for food despite how bare it was before she went off. She had Finelleth drawn, ready for anything, and when a branch snapped in the distance, she released her arrow without thinking, so filled with anger and emotion, even her Elven eyes hadn't seen what she had hit. Snapped completely out of her reverie, her brown eyes widened and she stepped forward. "Hello?" she called, praying that she hadn't hit one of her Company in her anger.

What met her ears was a growl that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Instantly she retreated back to the camp with another arrow drawn and notched. "Wargs!" she screamed to them in the distance, praying she could get there in time. "There are Wargs!"

Everyone leapt into action immediately and swords were drawn as she made her way back to them. She placed herself in between Gandalf and Boromir, panting and staring at the tree line, waiting to see the villains. There was a howl that ripped through the air.

"Saruman knows we came back," Legolas drawled, glaring at Arathell.

"Are Wargs too much of a challenge for you, Prince?" she snapped.

He glared at her and waited like she did. She saw something move behind the trees, deep in the shadows, and she looked at Gandalf. "It is too dark, Mithrandir," she complained, looking up at the clouds that covered the moon, hiding its pearly white glow.

Within seconds, the clouds parted and light erupted over the makeshift fortress they were bundled into. When she looked back to the small gathering of trees, yellow lights appeared, glaring at their Company and growling at them. She saw the Hobbits shiver with fear and she moved without thought to stand in front of them, blocking their move. "Courage, Halflings," she breathed.

With her new position between Legolas and Aragorn, the three of them were all prepared to release their arrows. As soon as one stepped away from the trees, Legolas shot the first arrow and there was a high-pitched whine that erupted into the night.

They waited, and when the second came out, she shot her own, cursing herself when she heard it whine but still saw it moving towards her. Aragorn finished it with his arrow and she released a growl of her own in displeasure. "Can we not argue right now about whatever it was that I did to anger you?" he retorted, shooting again at another.

"Then expect severe words when we are done," she growled.

He nodded swiftly and put his bow away, drawing his sword as the Wargs came closer. Gimli was letting out series of war cries that muted the Hobbits distressing whimpers quite effectively. Trusting Legolas to do what he could with his bow, she drew Ristor, the feel of the hilt molding itself to her skin and becoming an extension of her. The Wargs were running straight to them, howling and growling in anticipation and she couldn't stop herself from releasing a cry of her own when one challenged her.

Wargs were dangerous things; it was true. However they were large and cumbersome, and could not control their oversized bodies as well as she could. She twirled on instinct, dodging an outstretching paw that was grappling for her and she landed her sword down on the appendage, warm blood squirting out of the wrist as the paw fell to the ground. Wailing in its pain, she finished it with a slice across its face, hearing it thump as a lifeless heap to join the lonely paw on the ground.

Arathell ran to the Hobbits, all trying to take on one Warg on their own. She threw herself in front of them, baring her teeth to the animal before dropping to the ground and rolling to get closer, shoving Ristor up into its heart a second later.

A ways away, she saw Boromir struggling hard with his Warg. She was confident he had never fought one before as they didn't normally stray so far as Gondor. Arathell took out a dagger from her boot and launched it, hitting the creature in the head.

There were not many left, but the remaining ones were stronger and had tarried towards the back, waiting for the young and reckless to come to an end and for their Company to grow wearier.

She didn't wait for them to approach her this time, coming to the leader of their pack, judging it by the size. It already had an arrow sticking from its hide and it growled in challenge at her. It launched at her with a speed that she hadn't anticipated and she barely leapt back in time for her face not to get scratched. It had control over its body, lunging again and again, meeting her sword with its teeth, blocking her every move. She dropped onto her back, waiting for it to loom over her before kicking it fiercely in the face, throwing if off enough for her to wrap her arms and legs around its neck, hoisting herself onto its back. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, intending to stab it straight through its skull, only to have the animal rear itself on its hind legs, falling on its back and therefore falling on her. She cried out as she felt a bone snap under the immense weight, but battled through the pain, her legs wrapping around its neck and squeezing while she tried to wriggle her hands free from under it. How they got there, she wouldn't have been able to know.

"Arathell!" someone screamed, but she was too focused to know who it was. With her arrow still in hand, she reached around, hopefully avoiding its teeth-filled jaws to stab the head of the arrow deep into its eye. It cried out in pain, but she kept pushing, feeling its blood dribbled onto her arm and down onto her. The smell of iron filled her nose and she could even taste it in the air around her. Its whines were still loud in her ears and the struggling of its legs was dwindling as its life was slowly being extinguished. She pulled the arrow out and stabbed again, the cries amplified. Uneasily, her free hand, which she strongly suspected was what was broken, reached to her boot, fumbling for her second dagger. When she finally found it, the animal was almost dead, but she finished it with a swipe across its throat. The cries died with the animal, but the blood continued flowing, gravity pulling it down onto her and painting her skin maroon. "Arathell!" the voice yelled again.

"It's dead!" she yelled back. "Get it off of me!"

Hands from everywhere approached, slowly pulling the beast from her.

When the massive animal fell from her, she gasped out, taking in the air again. The Hobbits looked they wanted to hug her, but did not want to touch her while she was covered in blood. Even Boromir looked this way though he grabbed her hand, making her yelp in pain. "Don't!" she yelled, pulling the wounded appendage to her chest. "I think it is broken."

Aragorn was there as well and gingerly reached for her hand. She was still furious with him, but she allowed him to look at it. He tapped each of her fingers which caused discomfort, but not severe pain. When he carefully rotated her wrist, she screamed again. "It is your wrist."

"What gave you that idea?" she retorted through her gritted teeth.

Aragorn promptly ignored her and looked up at Gandalf. "We need athelas and water."

Mithrandir knelt down with a grunt and took her arm. Her wrist dangled limply and she flinched. "You're hurting her!" Boromir exclaimed.

"Arathell is stronger than your average being, Boromir. She is quite alright and she knows it," Mithrandir snapped. She glared at the old man but she did not argue the point. "Boromir, look for the water. We cannot spare what little water we have now. Aragorn can find the athelas. Be quick. We need to be hurrying along soon and we do not have time to tarry in one place for too long. Saruman could send others."

The two Men were quick to depart, each going their separate ways and she found herself watching keenly where Aragorn walked. His long strides were covering ground faster than Boromir and his hand was clenched around the pommel of his sword, waiting for more evil. But she could tell even from behind him that his gaze was very much focused on what it was that Gandalf sent him off to do.

"Are you alright, Miss Thellie?" Pippin queried softly.

Her head snapped to look at the four Halflings and reset her features. There was no need to frighten them. "This does not come remotely close to all of the damage my body has seen, Peregrin. Lady Shadow stops for no one but Death and you would do well to remember it. I will be quite fine once Boromir and Aragorn return."

"Aragorn saved Mr. Frodo's life with that kingsfoil," Sam pointed out. "I'm sure that he can make you right as rain in no time."

"Master Elrond had a heavy hand in Frodo's survival, Sam," she reminded, still quite frustrated with Aragorn, despite how good he was at healing.

Sam shrugged. "To be fair, Miss Thellie, had Aragorn been unable to keep Mr. Frodo alive until Glorfindel came, then I don't think that your father would have been able to do anything anyway."

Frodo nodded in agreement. "I owe him my life."

Arathell sighed and waited for the Men to return. Boromir returned first and then began pacing back and forth in front of her, waiting for Aragorn. "How hard is it to find a weed?" he demanded. She was about to reply when there was a shadow in the tree line that appeared and she sighed, seeing Aragorn's silhouette appear before the moonlight touched his tan skin.

He knelt down beside her and took the water that was resting next to her. He paused, looking up at everyone who was crowding them. "Be gone with you," he demanded. "She will be just fine, but she doesn't need everyone crowding her."

"Do not tell me what I need and do not need," she snapped.

"Do not make me break your wrist further," he threatened. His voice had been calm, but she saw the fire in his eyes clear enough to nod to the others to leave. "Why are you angry with me now?" he asked, dropping the athelas into the water, crushing it with a rock nearby. She could smell the fragrance as it bloomed into the air, a minty scent that was sprinkled lightly with the smell of rain. "Arathell?" he asked when she didn't answer.

She met his gaze sternly. "You did not wake me for the watch last night after I explicitly told you that I would take the second watch." He looked confused, as if he had hadn't been expecting that to be the cause at all. "I am tired of people assuming what I can and cannot do, and I do not need you making my decisions for me. I am quite capable of doing that for myself. If I say that I am fit to take that watch, then I am. You underestimated me and it infuriates me."

Aragorn placed a cloth within the water, wringing it out only a little before resting it on her wrist. The relief was immediate and she forced herself not to sigh. She was in no mood. "Do you honestly believe that I doubt your skills, Arathell?" he asked, his voice still that penetrating calm that made her nervous. He was supposed to be angry and was supposed to shout back at her how unreasonable he thought she was being. "You took on the Warg with barely any trouble, and you did it by yourself. Do you think that we were incapable of helping you while you were battling it? We knew you would triumph. I told them you would. I will never doubt you, Arathell. When you said this morning that you were capable of taking the second watch, I believed you whole-heartedly. You could have done that. But I also knew from seeing you throughout the day that you were exhausted and you had earned an undisturbed sleep."

"Why should that matter to you? Why do you have to question me at all? If I offer to do something, why would you not take up that offer? It simply does not make sense!"

"I'm not allowed to be nice to you?" he retorted. He was beginning to sound more like that Aragorn she normally fought with. His brows were furrowing and she could see the storm growing in his eyes. "Why can you simply not accept a favor when it is given to you instead of questioning every thought behind it? Why are you this angry about me letting you sleep?"

"Because all of my life, everyone has told me what I cannot do and who I can and cannot be!" she yelled. She heard the rest of the Company quiet far from them. She doubted that they had heard her words clearly; they probably only knew that she was shouting. "I want to do the things that I can do, and I do not want anyone making those decisions for me! Everyone has always treated me in one way or another, supposedly being a Lady of Rivendell or being a warrior of old! Why can you not just let me be me? What is so wrong with me?" Somewhere in her speech – she couldn't have known where – but tears started leaking from her eyes and she slammed her good hand down on her thigh in frustration. She blinked furiously, retrieving the traitorous droplets and locking them away so that he couldn't see. With any luck, the darkness of the night prevented it.

"You were trying to be Shadow last night," he snapped back, unbothered by her tears and making her freeze. "You have so many faces and so many names, it is a miracle you even have a concept of yourself at all. I heard Shadow saying that she could take the second watch last night. I didn't hear you. But I saw you well enough. You were tired and exhausted, and I will not apologize for allowing you to sleep. I wasn't giving Lady Arathell Duvainith extra sleep and I wasn't giving Shadow extra sleep either. I was giving my friend, Arathell, extra sleep because regardless of what you said you wanted, that wasn't what you needed. And if you aren't brave enough to say what you need instead of what you want, then yes, I am going to make the decision for you. I will not apologize for having your best interests at heart."

She laughed mirthlessly. "My father said the same thing when I first asked if I could be a warrior. You are no better than him."

"Don't presume to think that he and I are anything alike," he growled. Her mouth closed rapidly, shocked by the venom that was buried in that deep voice of his. "Your father told you that you could not go to war because he did not want you to get hurt and he was too selfish and wanted you to stay. I just watched you take on a Warg by yourself and never once did I think that you could not do it. And I have seen you do far greater things than that without doubt in my mind. I was not selfish to want that kill for my own. It was your kill and yours alone." He looked away briefly, as if trying to organize his thoughts before looking back at her. "What you wanted from your father was support. That was what you wanted. What you needed was to be a warrior and make a stand. You could have done that without your father's support, but it was what you wanted. You always get those two things confused in your head, and if we are discussing what infuriates us then that is what infuriates me. Last night you wanted to take the second watch, but I saw that you needed sleep more than what you wanted."

"The rest of you needed sleep as well," she reminded hotly. "Why are you placing my needs above those of the rest of the Company?"

"Legolas did not need sleep," he brushed off. "He was not carrying anyone on that mountain. And we both know that my sympathy for Boromir has never been high. And both he and I had eaten. You hadn't."

"Is that simply another way of saying that it was because I am a woman that you let me sleep?" she drawled.

"Your sex does not matter to me," he bit back. "I have never looked at you and thought you were weaker because of your sex. The only thing I can think of that would be detrimental for being a woman is that you are so much more emotional about these things! You get angry with me over ridiculous things and it simply doesn't make sense to me that this should bother you as much as it does! I wanted you to be able to sleep. I saw that you were tired. I never doubted that you would have been able to take the second watch. I decided to be generous and let you sleep because Legolas did not need it, and Boromir and I did not need it because we had eaten while you had not. So stop making such a big issue out of things that are not that grand to begin with! I was being nice! If I had known that you were going to be so offended by my gesture then I would have elected you to stay up for the entire four hours so that we would not be fighting about it right now! Because that was what you wanted. Forgive me for looking past that mask you always wear and seeing that you were just trying to be strong for the rest of the Company. When are you going to realize that you don't have to strong all of the time? When are you going to realize that there are instances where you are more important than the task? You have no care for yourself! Arathell, you are more than important in so many situations and you just cannot see it! I do not know what it is, but you refuse to think that you matter, and that is yet another thing that infuriates me about you." He paused and she could only stare at him, dumbstruck. "So I will not apologize for putting your needs above your wants because clearly you cannot do that for yourself anyways," he finished.

She sat there with him for what felt like hours. She stared at her injured wrist, watching as he tended to it. She could tell that he was angry for a good deal longer after he had finished his ranting, and his crushing of more athelas into the water was more vigorous than was needed. But after a while longer, he softened and the water that seeped into her skin was gentle, and the way that he held her hand lightly, keeping his fingers light on her pulse made it race more than calmed it. He wrapped the cloth around her wrist carefully, mindful not to nudge her wrist in the wrong direction. He took another cloth then and dipped it into the water before raising it to her face. He did not ask to wash the blood from her and for some reason she did not ask him to stop. The athelas in the water made the rest of her body feel cool and fresh as more layers of sweat and blood were peeled away from her skin.

He cleaned each crevice on her face dutifully, washing the rag repeatedly in the water until it was reflected a darker color of the moon above them. "My family says that I am selfish," she muttered under her breath. She hadn't intended to say it, and it had caught her by surprise as much as it did for him. He paused in his ministrations and dropped his hand, looking into her eyes. "They say that I think too much about my wants than I do others'. They say that I do not care about them. Or at least my siblings say this." She did not know why she had continued, but the warmth in his eyes had simply coaxed her thoughts from her.

His hand reached to her face again, this time without the rag and the pad of his thumb brushed her cheekbone softly, barely touching the skin. "That could not be further from the truth, Arathell," he replied tenderly. "You saved the Dwarves of Erebor when they battled at Moria. You helped create their home in the Blue Mountains. You gave love to a mother who did not have any daughters. And then you raised her daughter when she no longer could. You let Kara go live her own life. You are revered as one of Gondor's greatest heroes. You have saved more people than can be counted. That does not sound like the actions of one who is selfish."

She sighed and chose not to answer him, thinking heavily of the times she went through before he was even born. She may have given Mara the love that she craved, but she had not given love to her own mother. Even Celeborn had commented on her selfishness and her reluctance to help those who not her own kind.

When he realized that she did not believe him, he sighed and gave up, going back to washing away the last of the blood from her skin. He trailed her hairline, being conscientious not to touch it though she was not sure if she would even be angry if he did. She would be disappointed, as he knew better than to do that, and maybe she would feel guilty, as she had yet to allow Boromir the privilege but… "I think you'd have the right to be selfish if you really wanted to," he commented lightly.

Her head snapped up and she eyed him carefully. "What do you mean by that?" she whispered.

He met her gaze and gave her a sad smile. "I see more than most, Arathell," he murmured back to her. Again, she was confused by his words, but before she could ask him to clarify, he stood and dumped the water. "Leave the cloth tied to your wrist. It will help, but do not expect it to heal immediately. It was a serious break."

She shrugged and stood as well, still not entirely done with their previous conversation. But she knew Aragorn well enough to know that he did not care to talk about it anymore. She still wondered what he meant, but she knew that it was going to be something that she would have to ask him about later. Besides, she thought with a rueful sigh, Saruman would not accept a defeat so easily. She was sure that the Wizard would have found a way to retaliate by now, and she did not want to tarry around their campsite for much longer. "At least it is not my dominant hand," she remarked. "And Elves heal quicker than Men."

He grinned. "Yes, thanks be to Eru for that," he answered. "We should go."

Arathell nodded grimly and followed him back to the others. Boromir sought out her gaze, but she looked down to the ground. She was still angry – she could feel it in her gut well enough – but she no longer knew who was meant to take her anger. Aragorn's words had been harsh in her ears and he had had no remorse for anything, making her still want to stay angry with him. But his words had had more meaning and had struck her harder than any words that Boromir had ever said to her. Aragorn quite honestly made her feel ridiculous and insane but he had at least taken care not to embarrass her in front of everyone. She and Aragorn had had so many arguments on this journey and each one had made her sick. She could not place why they quarreled now so much as opposed to before.

In any case, Aragorn had made it clear even to her stubborn mind that he did not underestimate her. He believed in her perhaps more than anyone she knew. He had made it also clear that he was simply trying to be courteous. She sighed to herself, fighting the guilt that was rising in her mind. She wanted to apologize, but she was never very good at it, just as she knew that he was just as weak, if their argument meant anything.

She looked at Boromir out of the corner or her eye. Now she felt that she was back to being at least disappointed in him. Maybe anger was the wrong word for the emotion that she was feeling, but she knew for sure that she did feel disappointment where the soldier was concerned. He claimed so often that she was important to him. Why did he not think to let her sleep?

Arathell sighed again and decided to discard the incident, thinking that maybe it would go away if there were other pressing matters.

* * *

 **There it is! What are we thinking? Please leave me a review! And don't hate me for altering the scene, please!**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	38. Chapter 38

**Hey there, everyone! Thank you bunches for the wonderful response! I was honestly floored! We are more than halfway there for the next one-shot winner! Thanks to all who favorite and follow and of course everyone who reviews!**

 **We have another scene here today that came from the book but only has very loose ties. Thanks for being supportive of my creative license! Hopefully, I can continue to make it interesting for all of you! :D**

 **THIS CHAPTER PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE THE OTHER LEFT OFF.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson – just Arathell plus other characters that are not in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Shinedown - Thick as Thieves

"And guilty I may be  
But don't give up on me  
In the wake of the Odyssey  
We will still be thick as thieves  
You and me still thick as thieves"

When they finally lied down for rest, only a day from the Gates of Moria now, she rolled further from the group than she normally would have. She stayed within the range of all of them being able to see her form on the ground, but she kept her back to them. She heard a scuffling behind her and she frowned, knowing who it was. "Arathell?" Boromir asked in a hushed voice, wondering if she was asleep.

She snapped her eyes closed, wanting so desperately to be on her own for the moment. She heard another scuffle. "Leave her be," Aragorn told him and she sighed slightly, nestling herself deeper into her bedroll, despite how uncomfortable it was. "She needs sleep." She knew from the moment he said it that he knew that she was awake and avoiding Boromir. And she also knew that his use of the word 'need' was very specific and that he was not trying to incite her frayed nerves.

"She has been so quiet," Boromir commented.

Arathell could practically hear Aragorn shrug behind her. "Arathell will not waste time saying things that do not need to be said."

"But something does need to be said!" Boromir argued. "We all know that you and she had a disagreement tonight, and I would like to know what you did to upset her."

Aragorn was quiet. "Ask her if she is mad with me," he suggested. "From how I understand it, we have settled on an agreement. I am not angry with her nor was I ever – merely frustrated. I cannot speak for her, but I felt that she was no longer so angry by the time our conversation was over."

"I do not believe you," Boromir said resolutely.

"Wake her then," Aragorn challenged.

"Fine," Boromir answered and she soon felt a hand fall on her shoulder. She groaned in displeasure and rolled, looking up into Boromir's face. "Melda," he whispered gently, all remnants of his debacle with Aragorn nonexistent. She turned her head slightly and met Aragorn's eyes which only held intrigue and something else that she could not name. "What is the matter?" he bluntly asked and she looked back into his eyes surprised, even though she knew that has been his intention all along.

"What do you mean? I am tired and I…" she looked back at Aragorn who looked more than invested in the conversation. She looked back at Boromir again. "I need to sleep," she said, holding her chin high and asking Boromir to doubt her.

Boromir looked unsure of how to next phrase his question. "You fought with Aragorn tonight," he mentioned.

Arathell pursed her lips. "He and I have argued much on this journey," she said dryly, but she hated acknowledging it. It made their inability to get along much more stinging.

He looked frustrated and ran a hand through his hair. "What did you disagree about?"

She stared at him calmly. "It was a misunderstanding; that is all," she explained. "There is nothing more than that." Aragorn began to turn back to the rest of the group, but she continued. "Aragorn knows that I was wrong. I misinterpreted something and I was angry. But… he did nothing wrong." Aragorn paused, but he did not turn around. She saw him subtly nod before she turned her full attention back to Boromir. "Is that really all you had to ask me?" she demanded. "You woke me to know of a disagreement between Aragorn and me?"

"It seemed that it was bothering you," Boromir justified.

She shook her head and laid back down on her bedroll. "If there is something that I want you to know, then you can be sure that I will tell you. Until then, let me sleep. My watch is in a few hours, and I… need it."

Boromir let her be and she snuggled down into her bedroll further. It was strange to admit actually needing something as opposed to wanting it. And she was sure that her discussion with Aragorn would not dissolve completely her conceptions of want and need. There were many things that she acknowledged that she did not want to do, yet she would do them anyway. And it was because she needed to do those things. She would much rather be with her daughter in Erebor at the moment, spending time with her grandchildren and being isolated from the world and all of its troubles. But she was needed here. Frodo needed her and there were others in their company who had made that distinction as well. She could not abandon them.

But she supposed that it was a small step forward into looking at her own wants and needs closer. Maybe Aragorn was right about that as well – maybe it had been too long since she considered the things that she needed in contrast to what everyone else wanted from her. She had never thought that people had been taking advantage of her and she still did not know if she accepted that her family continuously demanded from her. She had had her problems with them in the past, but to say that they used her more as a pawn than a part of their family was a stronger hurt than anything they had ever done to her before. She did not want to think that her father had allowed that – that her grandfather or her grandmother had.

She knew for certain that they loved her, or at least that they would protect her and look out for her should she ever needed them. But how much did they ask from her? She had once begged for release from the Elven army after her fight with Angmar. Her father had denied her, saying that it was within her soul that she craved to battle. And she knew that he was right. She could not have turned away entirely from this life. It was a part of her and… she needed it. She needed to feel like she was doing something against the darkness. She never dared to hope that she could make any true difference, but it was better than sitting and waiting for darkness to descend on her. She would never know how Arwen justified her actions to wait for Aragorn to return to her. But in any case, was there another motive as to why her father did not want her to leave the army? She was unsure.

No, she thought with a shake of her head. Her father loved her and often spoiled her. There were many things that she knew that her siblings did not like and it was because she had the ability to push her father to the brink and make him give her what she wanted. He loved her – just how her grandmother favored her out of her four grandchildren. And she and Celeborn had a relationship that was unrivaled. Her siblings were another matter and this was obvious. All three of them had admittedly been selfish, taking her words too close to heart, and maybe she was doing the same thing as well. But Arwen still did not have the right to retaliate to Arathell's blunt words with ones of cruelty. Did she use Arathell? It was unlikely – her sister had all but ignored her existence since that conversation years ago.

Everything was clouded in front of her eyes, and she hated this discomfort. She could not understand why Aragorn thought the way that he did when it came to her family. Maybe he saw it clearer than she did, as he had been an outsider from his arrival to Imladris. He saw things objectively and did not attach emotion to it. Often, she was the same, but she had been surrounded by her family for more than a thousand years and the small pieces and small indications of change and behaviors were things she could no longer pinpoint.

She could no longer remember when things really started going ill in her life. Maybe it was when her mother left? Maybe it was when Celeborn had had his first discussion with her regarding her selfishness. Maybe it was before even that – when her mother gave her the name Duvainith. Or could it even go back to her birth when she was named Arathell – the noble sister? For that was all that her family saw her as most of the time.

She was the sister. She was the sister of greater beings like the brave and wise twins or like the beautiful Arwen.

All she had was a name her people had given to her out of fear – Shadow. She was an agent of Death and nothing more to them. They did not look at her with the reverence that they did when they gazed upon her siblings. She was ultimately jealous, just as Legolas had once claimed her to be. Even she could not deny that.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight – trying to think about something else that was less depressing.

Sleep took her soon after.

* * *

 **Early Morning, January 13, 3019 – West Side of the Misty Mountains**

Arathell did not need anyone to wake her that morning, waking with the sound of a rustling camp. She realized that Aragorn had triumphed again and had ordered the others not to wake her for a watch. She thought about being angry, but she was simply too tired to care if he ignored her wants. He had already made it clear that her wants would never be as important to him as her needs, and she supposed that with her broken wrist, she needed as much rest as she could obtain.

She stood up and began packing things away again with the others, coming up beside Sam to help him load things into his heavy pack.

She glanced up at the small pony that had joined them. It had lingered with the Company on and off for the past weeks, and she knew that it had established a connection with Sam, following the round Hobbit wherever he went. She thought that it was endearing but also troublesome at the same time. There were already too many mouths to feed in her mind, and a horse's appetite was larger than any of theirs. And it made her miss her own Faerdhinen.

"You're awake," Boromir announced with a haunted smile. She sighed at the sight of him, knowing instantly that today his mind would not be as clear as it was yesterday. She gave him a small smile and nodded. "How did you sleep?" he asked flippantly but she could easily hear the stutter in his voice.

It pained her more and more every day that she had to see him slowly lose himself to the Ring. She could see in his eyes how much he was trying to fight it, even if he did not know that that was what he was doing. He knew somewhere in his mind that he was losing control over who he was and he was still trying to make an effort to be himself and it broke her more than anything.

"I slept well," she commented, pretending not to notice his pain. She did not know what he needed more at the moment: someone to point out his flaws or someone to silently encourage him from the sidelines and ignore his problems completely.

He gestured to her wrapped hand. "And that?" he questioned further.

"You need not worry about it," she soothed, the lie coming out easily. Truthfully, the ache in it was almost as bad as the initial breaking was. Letting it lie limply for as long as she had without stretching it at all had allowed it to become incredibly stiff and beyond her ability to move voluntarily anyway. She knew that she would need to move it sometime in the day, but she was dreading it.

Boromir seemed unsure of her answer, but he did not bother to interrogate her further. The Company was soon packed again, and as loath as they had been to do it, they had harvested some of the Warg meat for a mediocre breakfast. The meat had made them all grimace more than once during their meal, but only the Hobbits had had it in them to complain about it, only to be quickly silenced moments later.

Resting the final bag onto the back on Bill, Arathell stiffened, standing up straight. "Mithrandir?" she called, turning back to their leader. He seemed just as sensitive as she was.

"There are more," Legolas announced from his standpoint on a high rock.

"Sam!" she yelled, coming to his side. "Stay with Bill," she commanded, drawing her sword. She did not dare to draw her bow and arrow from her quiver now. She knew that with her shattered wrist, her chances of aiming properly were next to nothing at all.

A loud howl erupted into the clear, morning air and Sam gasped. "What was that? More Wargs?" he presumed, drawing his small sword. She could see beads of sweat appearing on his brow.

"Wolves, Master Gamgee," Aragorn answered for her, coming to stand beside them.

She gave the Man a partial glare. "I do not need you to smother me," she mentioned. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself and Sam, despite my broken wrist."

"I will be the judge of that," he disregarded, sword drawn and staring into the distance.

Another howl sounded - this one closer.

"They can't be much more difficult to kill than the Wargs, right?" Sam asked worried, looking at his companion and was getting more and more restless by the minute.

She and Aragorn brought their attention to Sam. "They are leaner and more in control of their gait," she explained slowly. "They are most definitely more difficult to kill."

Before much more could be said about the matter, more and more howls could be heard, each one sounding closer than the last. Before long, they all decided collectively to come out of hiding, pouncing into the middle of the Company snarling and biting at each of them with their yellow eyes glowing like Death's lamps.

With a war cry, she drove herself into the fight, coming up against a she-Wolf, staying lower to the ground and flashing her own teeth at the beast in a snarl. "Come on," she spat, coaxing the animal into action. It leapt at her in its offended fury, jaws open wide to grab hold of her sword hand. Arathell rolled quickly to the side of her jaws and threw her leg out to kick her in the side hard. The she-Wolf whimpered in reply, but came back just as ferocious as before. But the animal was not as focused – only thinking of its anger, which Arathell used to her advantage quickly by charging it and shoving her sword through the chest of the wolf.

She withdrew her sword, looking for her next kill and ran over to Merry and Pippin who were both fighting to wear courageous faces against the Wolf. Arathell threw herself over the top of the animal, pushing it to the ground and looked up at the Hobbits. "Kill it," she demanded, feeling it struggle beneath her to break free. "I cannot hold it for much longer; you must kill it."

Merry thrust his sword arm out clumsily, but it killed the dog just the same. She rolled off of the beast. "Do not hesitate. If you have a shot; kill it." The growl in her voice could have sounded much like these Wolves, but she wouldn't have known.

She found herself engaged in battle with another. Like her battle with the Wargs, her last one was the strongest and most difficult. This Wolf was heavier than the others, but not necessarily the Alpha. The Alpha was still fighting Gandalf, but this one would do. Arathell stayed low to the ground once more, throwing her sword arm up to knock it in the nose, disorientating it for a brief moment. It shook off its confusion and leapt faster than she would have anticipated, knocking her all the way to the ground, perched over her. Arathell growled up at it, hiding any trace of fear in her. She pulled her knees as close to her chest as she could before shooting them forward into the stomach of the Wolf, throwing it off of her. It yowled in retort and shook itself to its feet instantly as she rose from the ground to join it. She waited again for it to leap at her before twisting to the side, presenting a small target while thrusting her sword under her arm, straight into its head.

Arathell grinned at her kill before hearing a shout to her left. Sam was pinned to a rock with his sword pointed valiantly as an oncoming Wolf as if to ward it away. She groaned and reached without thinking to her right side with her injured wrist, grabbed a dagger and flung it in the direction of the animal. The cry that erupted from her own mouth was louder than that of the dying Wolf and the pain that gripped her made tears instantly pop into her brown eyes.

The others must have eradicated the rest of the Wolves as everyone was suddenly crowded around her. She shut her mouth tightly and squeezed her eyes closed while she swallowed the lump that found itself lodged in her throat. When she opened her eyes, she was in more control of herself and she took several deep breaths to calm her shaking body. The pain was still immense, but she hid it well within her, making her cries all internal and buried in her gut.

Aragorn threw himself down in front of her, grabbing onto her face, looking for signs of head injury. His fingers trespassed deep into her hair, rubbing her scalp as he hurriedly tried to assess her physical state. The moment she realized how he was touching her, he had already retracted his hands and was now investigating her wrist. "You should not have used it, Arathell," he scolded. She couldn't risk opening her mouth in fear of a traitorous groan coming out. To make her point clear however, she glared heavily at him and even struggled against his healing touch. She would have preferred to berate him for it, but she kept her mouth closed. "Go away," Aragorn told them all. "This should not take longer than ten minutes, and then we make to leave."

Boromir lingered for a moment, assessing the situation, and she could only imagine about how he felt with the transaction that he just witnessed. She had been sure that he had seen Aragorn touch her hair, and she was just as sure that he was unhappy with the touch. She had yet to allow him the honor of touching her hair and to see Aragorn touch her hair as if it was nothing of importance must have aggravated him terribly.

"Away, Boromir," Aragorn barked again, rummaging through his supplies to find more athelas. "Help the rest of the Company reorganize."

"I do not take orders from a Ranger," he responded gruffly.

Aragorn paused from his task and looked up at the Gondorian. "Arathell wishes to have words with me privately, do you not?" he asked, looking at her. She continued to glare at him but gave a harsh nod, not looking at Boromir. "Now, I will not ask again. If you do not remove yourself, then I shall have to do it for you. And I will not be gentle," he added.

Boromir waited for another moment and then made his leave, grumbling and stomping away. "Let me see your wrist," he gestured, having a bowl already filled with some of the water from his canteen.

"You should not have touched my hair," she ground out between her teeth when she felt that she could speak once more without screaming. "It was not your place."

"You did not speak," he said brusquely, casting a glance at the hurrying Company behind her. "I worried that you had suffered a head injury."

"Well, you should know better than anyone that an Elf's hair is sacred. It is a privilege to touch our hair, and you never had permission to do so with mine. Furthermore, Boromir has yet to receive that permission and for him to witness you being so forward with the one he wishes to court, he may conceive suspicions," she told him with her voice stuck in the back of her throat, keeping herself distant from him emotionally and mentally.

Aragorn did not say anything for a long period, pushing a cloth with the athelas water into the broken bone of her wrist. The relief eased her racing heart and slowed her breath. His hands were just as gentle as they were the previous evening, devoted to the task. "I would have thought you would have given him permission already," he finally muttered before dipping the rag back into the water.

She pursed her lips in contempt and looked away towards the Man in question. She had no true reason to have forbidden him from touching her hair – or rather, she had her reasons, but they would not have been appropriate to mention to Boromir. She questioned his mind daily, and she questioned his true affection and feelings for her. Not to mention that she liked to watch how he acted around the rest of the Company. It was well that he treated her amicably, but it did not mean anything if she was the only one he gave fond attention to. With a lordly position like his, it was crucial that he could build good-standing relationships and friendships with everyone in their Company, and he had yet to prove himself completely in that regard. Everyone seemed to like him well enough, especially the Hobbits. But it was clearer than day that he had not earned their trust. Even Merry and Pippin were anxious around him.

When she looked back at Aragorn, she stared at her mending hand calmly. "That is also not your place."

He shrugged a shoulder, tying the knot of the rag around her wrist gently, but tightly enough so that it would not loosen itself on their journey. "I remember when we used to speak of everything and anything. Where have those days gone, mellon?" he asked her in a kind voice.

Arathell could remember well enough such a time. And she could also remember such a time when she had asked those exact words to Lindir after their impromptu relationship had ended. They had never been able to mend the bridge they had burned, and both of them had subsequently been stranded on opposite sides of a rather large river. The last thing that she wanted was for such a thing to happen with Aragorn. Boromir could be there for her, but she needed Aragorn to be there for her. She needed Aragorn and his guidance and constant support.

"Aragorn, I –" she started, unsure of how to continue her words. He continued pulling at the knot, making it tighter. Deciding that it was too much of a distraction, she dropped her good hand on top of his, stopping his fingers and squeezing his hands. The Ring of Barahir scratched at her palm, but she paid it no heed. "Please do not give up on me," she begged in an ashamed whisper. "I know that my words with you have not been as honest as they could be as of late." He met her gaze calmly and turned his hand over under hers, wrapping his fingers around the sides of her palm. "I have spoken with you about Boromir more than I probably should have originally. He and I are what make our relationship, and I should not be bringing my concerns to someone uninvolved. I know that I should be consulting him on all of these concerns and we should be coming up with solutions for them together. Therefore, I cannot be so frank with you about my concerns." She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. "I just do not want you to think that I do not care about what you think and how you feel about my situation. I care very much for your opinions. But please do not make me say everything I have in my mind. I do not fully understand those things myself, and I should know what I am thinking before I say anything. But please, Aragorn. Please do not give me up. I…" she sighed and looked down at their hands, noticing that the knuckles on both of their clasped hands were pure white with the tight grip they exerted on one another. She would have expected to feel pain from the grip, but she only felt… grounded.

Aragorn reached with his free hand, lifting her chin for her to look him in the eyes again. The storm she often saw in his grey pools was calm, swirling with curiosity and warmth unexplainable. "You what?" he whispered. She bit her lip again and looked to the side, but his eyes followed hers. "Arathell?"

She sighed once more and swallowed the lump of pride that was buried in her throat. "I need you," she blurted, closing her eyes as the words erupted. She kept them closed a moment longer, afraid to see his face. "I have had people leave me before, sometimes physically and sometimes emotionally. My mother left when I was young, and Kara left when I was old. I have lost Lindir's friendship millennia ago, and I have lost my siblings more than once. I cannot have more people leave me. I need the few I still have. And you happen to be one of those rare few. I need you to stay with me."

Arathell cracked her eyes open, seeing the pensive look on Aragorn's face as he contemplated her words. His hand had remained on her chin and she noticed the way his thumb stroked her jaw lightly, absentmindedly. When he looked back into her eyes, she shivered from what she saw. His face was suddenly inches from hers and he had his forehead leaning on hers, demanding her attention. "Listen to me very carefully, Arathell," he began. "There will never come a day when you will lose me." She pursed her lips, the lie sounding familiar in her ears. "I know they are words you have heard before and I know that promises such as mine have been broken where you are concerned. But you must know that I am a Man of my word. When I say that there will never be a day when I am not there for you, I truly mean it with everything in my heart and soul. Knowing that I have your trust is not something that I take lightly, and you should know that there is no one here that I trust more – no one in this world that I trust more than you. You must understand that."

Her brows furrowed and she pulled back, curious. "Arwen?" she asked him, looking at him, wishing more than anything that she still had her gift to know the general ideas of his mind. She wished that she could feel thoughts like she used to, despite the fact that she had never known his mind well to begin with, as her gift was already very muddled at the start of their friendship.

"Arwen is a confidant unimaginable and she is wonderful for everything, but she will never be able to say that she has known me as long as you have. You watched me grow and though you were not there, you played a part in my life, and you continue to do so. I do not remember a time in my life where you were not there. Arwen cannot claim that, Arathell."

"My brothers?" she continued. "My father?"

"Where are they?" he demanded. "You are who is here right now. And it is you that I have become closest to out of the five of you. We have seen the world together, and we are seeing it again now. Arathell, I would not have anyone else in your family here with me."

She gave him a tender smile and squeezed his hand. "How is my wrist?" she asked him, looking down before releasing his hand and touching her broken wrist. It stung more than she would have liked, but it was certainly one of the lesser of all of the wounds she had garnered in her long life.

He clicked his tongue. "Given your faster ability to heal, I would say that it should be fine within three days, as long as you do not stress it as you have done this morning. I was worried that you had broken it further, though it does not appear to be that way, thanks be to the Valar. Now, you need to understand that in three days it will not be perfectly healed, but it should be functional again, aside from being tender and perhaps a little sore. Hopefully, we shall not run into many more problems in that time and you will be back at your full strength the next time we are attacked."

She grinned at him smugly. "You say that with such confidence – that we are going to be attacked again."

He returned the grin, standing up and lending her a hand to help pull her up. "We have yet to enter Rohan and you have already broken your wrist. Of course we will be attacked again." Arathell rolled her eyes and began to make her way back to the camp, only to have her upper arm grabbed by Aragorn. She met his gaze with a confused stare, waiting for him to speak. "Thank you for saying what you said, Arathell. I know that it is sometimes hard for you to say what you are really thinking, and I do appreciate it when you are honest with me. I never meant to pry in the first place, and you know that I will only be here for when you deem you need someone to talk to."

"Someone objective?" she asked with a playful smile, trying to ignore the sentimentality of the moment.

He tilted his head to the side as his answer before releasing her and walking back to the camp himself. She felt stronger when she returned to Boromir's side, but she knew that the Man was anything but pleased.

The Company was ready to depart within moments and he left her side almost instantly to join Legolas and Gimli towards the front of the group, leaving her to bring up the rear with Aragorn.

In all honestly, she supposed that she would have been content to stay with Aragorn, but she knew that it would only hurt Boromir more. He had already witnessed a Ranger, seemingly no one in his eyes, touch her hair as if it was not of import.

And had he seen the kind of transaction that she and Aragorn had recently shared, she knew he would be even more devastated. She had never been extremely knowledgeable when it came to relationships, but she was confident that it could have been frowned upon to have her hand tangled with Aragorn's and to have their foreheads pressed together. She knew that it did not mean anything, simply a way of communicating comfort between the two of them. They had been friends for a long enough period of time that some of the barriers that would normally be between friends did not apply as strictly to them.

She still could not deny that she was disappointed that Aragorn had touched her hair, but the act was done with and she could not take it back, no matter how much she wanted to. She could only pray that Boromir would arrive at her conclusion soon. She suspected that the longer he drug out his despair, the further his mind would grow away from her. And she already struggled to keep it as it was.

So instead of remaining with Aragorn, she immersed herself in the Hobbits, hoping that they would have some words that would bring her some form of comfort. And Merry and Pippin were always cheerful, and while this morning did not seem to deter them, even with their near death experiences, they were a resilient folk. She laughed with them, but she still could not help but dwindle on how Boromir was. She needed to speak with him, but she was sure that he still was not relaxed enough to speak with her about the morning incident.

* * *

 **There it is! Let me know what is going on in those heads of yours! I am VERY curious for this one. :D**

 **Check out the music, as always!**

 **Love,**

 **LM**


	39. Chapter 39

**Hey there, everyone! Thank you bunches for the wonderful response! I was honestly floored! We are more than halfway there for the next one-shot winner! Thanks to all who favorite and follow and of course everyone who reviews!**

 **We have another scene here today that came from the book but only has very loose ties. Thanks for being supportive of my creative license! Hopefully, I can continue to make it interesting for all of you! :D**

 **THIS CHAPTER PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE THE OTHER LEFT OFF.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson – just Arathell plus other characters that are not in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Rihanna/Thirty Seconds to Mars - Stay

"Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving  
'Cause when you never see the light, it's hard to know which one of us is caving

Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way  
I want you to stay"

* * *

As the day grew longer and as they came closer and close to Moria, the air became thicker with every step, shrouding her perfect vision. She already hated this place more than most, and she had already had a history greater than most with Moria. She had seen enough of it when she fought on its outside against its walls. The last thing that she truly wished was to go inside of the fortress. There was an evil there that had not been killed during the last war, and though the Dwarves had deemed Moria habitable once more, she doubted it rather seriously.

Nevertheless, when she saw the ruined columns she was almost glad. Their journey had not been hindered again since that morning and it had given her time for her wrist to recoup from the stress it had been under. She considered asking Aragorn for more athelas water but decided against it almost immediately when she glanced up at the tense shoulders of Boromir. Clearly he had yet to forgive her for Aragorn's impropriety.

Once she could see the mist rising from the water in front of where the mystical door was to be, she was torn between smiling and frowning. She would have some rest, and the Hobbits would as well, but she was one step closer to whatever danger lurked in those caves.

"Frodo!" Gandalf called from the front of their Company. "Come and help an old man," he asked, and she watched the Halfling approach the Wizard carefully, coming to stand beside him. She could only hazard a guess as to what they were discussing, but she was positive that it was of nothing overly pleasant.

Aragorn walked in front of them all, coming to a stand over the small lake.

Gimli beside her gasped with pure awe. His hand reached out, as if to touch the magnitude of the moment, pointing at the supposed beauty of the stone. "The walls… of Moria." She pursed her lips as she stared, unimpressed with the structure of the craggy rock. Thick lines were etched into them, tearing at their youth and taking whatever beauty they once perhaps possessed. But she would die before saying such a thing to Gimli.

"Yes, it is all very breathtaking," Legolas said sarcastically, clearly just as on edge about the situation as she was. And he had never been here before! "Can we get out of the open and find the door before it becomes too dark?"

Gandalf hummed an affirmative and they began their trek down the steep hill. She held on tightly to Sam and the reins of Bill, not wishing for either of them to lose their footing. Both probably would have made more noise than would have been deemed inconsequential.

Once the ground leveled out, it then became their task to find the door. Legolas' hope for having it still be partially light was eradicated, as not even the moon was shining, covered by a thick hazing of clouds. She frowned up at the sight, considering it a bad omen.

"Dwarf doors are invisible to find when closed," Gimli mentioned offhandedly, knocking his axe against the stone only to receive a metallic clanging reverberating in her ears. She rolled her eyes at his antics, as if that would have helped him find the actual door.

"Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten," Gandalf replied, studying each bit of rock intently before passing it on for another.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas asked in a murmur, though Gimli had heard it clear enough to make a low growl in the back of his throat.

She grinned. "If it had not been for Gandalf and a Bilbo Baggins, I am quite sure Thorin's Company would not have even begun to think of a way into the Mountain. It is a fault of your heritage and you cannot blame a Prince for pointing out such an obvious flaw."

"Such an unbelievably plausible and humorous flaw at that," Legolas added with a cheeky grin.

"Careful, Frodo," she called when she saw him take a risky step into the water. "I am in no mood to fetch a drowning Hobbit this evening."

Frodo didn't look back at her, but she saw the tips of his ears turn slightly red.

Once the path ended abruptly, Gandalf faced the tall sheet of rock, apparently deciding that this was the place they needed to be. She rested her wounded wrist on her sword, looking at the dark water with disdain. It would be easy now to scoop some of it up and use it for the athelas, but there was an aura about this lake that she did not care for. She wished that she could see further into its depths, but it was cloaked with a murky mud, hiding its contents like a cheeky child with its hands behind its back.

Scoffing at her own analogy, she looked up to Gandalf and waited for something, anything to happen. The quicker she could distance herself from the lake, the better she would undoubtedly feel. The old man muttered some things to himself before turning to look up at the sky. The heavy cloud cover disbanded under his gaze, leaving a full moon in its wake. She sighed at the sight of white face, taking comfort in the light once more.

When she looked back to the wall, intricate markings lit up as the light of the moon danced its way into each crevice. Her mouth opened upon its own accord, struck by the unexpected beauty of the sight. It was drawn clearly by the Elves, and even the now lit inscription on the top read in Sindarin. The door itself was beautiful, with two pillars with weaving vines cuckolding them and an impressive arch peeking out at the top. A decorative chair resided in the middle, crowned with seven small stars. The Wizard took a moment to stroke his own pride, resting his hands on his hips and looking at the door with a smug expression. "It reads: 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak friend and enter," he translated, pointing to various words with the tip of his staff.

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked from the middle of their group.

"Well it's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open," Gandalf explained happily, an answer already in his mind. She furrowed her brows, watching as he pressed the end of his staff against the largest star on the door, speaking a series of words in Sindarin that appeared to have no effect. Her frown deepened. She could never remember reading so much about having Elven spells require a staff for entrance, but it was possible that the Dwarves would be particular in their makings. He tried another set of words with his hands outstretched this time, sounding more confused now... and then looking troubled when the doors still would not open.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin said dryly.

She traded a glance with Legolas and then looked down at a disheartened Gimli. Clearly, Legolas's earlier insult was ringing more true for him than he would have liked. Gandalf then proceeded to march up to the door, pushing against it with all of his might, but she knew well enough that a Dwarven door could never be opened with force. They were made to only accept magic, and it was an area that they were most stingy on. She could still remember Kara's stories about how the search for the keyhole of Erebor was carried out. "I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men, and Orcs," the Wizard complained bitterly.

"What are you going to do then?" Pippin asked conversationally and she bit back a smile.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took, and if that does not shatter them, then I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words," Gandalf bit back harshly before finding a rock to sit on. His gaze was pensive and he stroked his beard as he thought hard about the problem they faced.

Arathell sighed and glanced at the lake again. She still felt that something was wrong with it, but she did not dare try to rush the Wizard into finding an answer. He did everything in his own time and as he had always told her, he arrives precisely when he means to, and that included his conclusions.

She turned to look at Boromir, seeing him instantly look away from her and she sighed once more. Warily, she approached the Man, but he would not meet her gaze. "May we speak?" she whispered.

"You are quite comfortable with sharing private things in public settings, are you not?" he retorted with a hint of a bark in his throat. "Have you always allowed him to touch your hair? Or am I the exception that proves the rule?" he demanded rather loudly. Everyone in their Company was staring at them, and she blushed, wishing now that she had simply not said anything at all. When she looked at Aragorn, she could not discern what his opinion of the argument was, but everyone else seemed appalled. Only Gandalf did not seem to pay them any heed, still focusing on the dilemma posed to him.

"Boromir, please, understand that I was not expecting for that to happen this morning," she continued to whisper, reaching to rest her good hand on his arm, but he snatched it away before she could touch him.

"This morning then?" he snapped with a dry cry buried somewhere in his low voice. "You have expected such affection like that before from him then? You let that Ranger touch you like it means nothing, but the instant that I try to show you such affection, you turn and run from me like a frightened doe!"

"I am not frightened of you touching my hair, Boromir. That is beside the point!" she argued, her voice escalating with the anger that was building inside of her. "Aragorn has never before touched my hair until this morning, and I wish that he had not!" Things were deathly quiet around them and she shuffled her feet on the ground. She reached out for Boromir again and dragged him from the scene a ways. "I would never have let him touch my hair if he had asked me," she insisted once they were further away from the Company.

"Clearly he does not think that asking for such a privilege with you is necessary," he bit back. "He must think that with the long amount of time you have known one another, it is not necessary. It is his right, isn't it?"

"No, I never said that!" she barked, clenching her good hand into a fist. "He touched my hair incidentally because he wanted to make sure that I had not received a head injury from the Wolf!"

"And you've already said how appropriate incidental contact with your hair is," he carried on sarcastically. "How could I have forgotten? Well I apologize if I seem somewhat outlandish because a random stranger touched my maiden's hair, and she is not bothered by it!"

"He is not a random stranger; I am too bothered by it, and I am not yours!" she exclaimed. The last bit silenced him, and he actually looked hurt from her words, retracting himself slightly. She closed her eyes at the feel of her mistake and touched her forehead slightly. "You are mistaking my meaning, Boromir."

"I think your meaning is quite clear," he disagreed. "You could not be clearer."

"Listen to me, Boromir, please. When I say that, I say it because I have never before considered myself to be anyone else's property. I will never be something that can be tamed or that can be owned by another. I am independent of that, and I do not wish to be some Man's possession. Regardless of who you are, I will never be yours, and I will never be anyone else's. Please do not think that I am saying that I do not want to be with you. I want that very much, but this is just a part of me that you must understand if we are to be together."

He scoffed. "You have so many conditions for this relationship, Arathell," he complained, folding his arms across his chest. "You wish for me to learn everything there is to know about you before committing yourself to me –" he started.

"Is that so dreadful a request?" she demanded incredulously.

"You wish for me to be distant but to be with you anyway," he carried on, ignoring her. "You wish for me to understand each of your wants and your thoughts. And you want me to be patient while you decide if I can touch your hair!" he finished. He lowered himself slightly to look her in the eyes, throwing his hands out to the sides and looking at her as if she was insane. "It is hair! It is not your maidenhead!"

Horrified by his offensive words, her hand reached up to slap him on its own accord, connecting with his rough cheek with an echoing slap that left her palm and his face ruby red. She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked at him angrily, retracting the tears and locking them away behind her lids.

"Regardless of how ridiculous my requests seem to you, they will not change. I want to know that you truly love me before claiming so and then realizing later that you do not. You do not know the life that I have had and you do not know how many times those words have been uttered to me and then retracted at a later date. I have to protect myself from getting hurt, especially by someone who vies for my entire soul.

"I have never asked you to be distant. I have only asked that you be there should I call for you – that is not me pushing you into exile by any means. You are not a dog and I know that, but I just wish for someone who would stand behind me and trust me but catch me if I fall.

"I know that it is absurd for you to know all of my wants and thoughts and that is why I do not ask that of you. All that I ask is that you know what I need if I am being too stubborn to ask for it myself.

"And yes, the rule about my hair is silly and old-fashioned, but it is my rule. It is the one thing that I can still connect with my people about, and I treasure that more than you will ever know. This is one of the few things they would support me full-heartedly about. It is my hair, and it is at the length that it is because the Valar chose it for me. It is special and precious beyond measure, and I will not have just anyone in the world touch it, even incidentally. I have already reprimanded Aragorn for his insolence in the manner, and I am disturbed that you think me a common harlot to allow anyone to touch my hair!

"Now, if you'll excuse me, it looks like Aragorn and Sam are getting rid of the blasted pony and I wish to say goodbye!" she yelled in a whisper, stomping off away from him and to the others.

She approached warily, Aragorn not acknowledging her presence while Sam seemed unsure of how to handle the situation, having most likely heard plenty of what she had said to Boromir.

"The mines are no place for a pony," Aragorn said as Sam stroked the long nose of the animal.

She swallowed her anger and gave Sam a tight smile. "Even ones so brave as Bill," she commented, running her fingers through its soft mane, soothing the animal and trying to soothe her own frayed nerves.

"Bye-bye, Bill," Sam cooed, looking saddened by the departure.

Aragorn removed the straps around its head before turning it away and pushing it. "Go on, Bill. Go on," he urged, and she watched with her same tight smile as Bill left. She felt homesick at that point more than ever. She was in a land she had no desire to be in, she was forced to say goodbye to the pony, reminding her so much of her Faerdhinen, and she and Boromir had fought harder than they ever had before. She was hurting in her wrist and she was hurting in her soul. She hated it here and the gross-looking lake did nothing to help either. "Don't worry, Sam," Aragorn soothed. "He knows the way home."

"I'll just miss him, is all," Sam said, trying to sound brave for the two of them.

"I'm just as sure that he will miss you. He always did like you the most," Arathell commented. Sam gave her a small smile before leaving to sit with Gimli.

In the darkness, she turned to stare at Gandalf who was muttering a series of spells, none of them working. She had not seen Aragorn even move out of her peripheral, but she nearly jumped when his hand slid into hers, fingers clasping her sweaty palm. "From what I heard, it did not sound pleasant," he commented.

She kicked at the rocks and squeezed his hand. "If he saw you holding my hand now, he would only have meaner things to say, I'm sure. He was holding his words back then."

"I'm sorry," he said, beginning to pull his hand away, but she squeezed it tighter and looked down at their hands, looking so clumsily pieced together, but so simple at the same time. The locks of her fingers were left untouched, allowing their palms to mesh firmly against each other, grounding her.

Truthfully, it felt more real than any of the times she had ever held Boromir's hand. "No, don't be," she murmured, still looking at their hands. "I think I need it," she told him, knowing how he felt about the word.

Aragorn did not offer up any argument and only squeezed her hand tighter, looking out across the lake with disdain. "I should not have touched your hair this morning. I apologize for the anguish it has caused for you and Boromir. That was never my intent."

She shook her head and frowned. "I understand your motives and while I can safely say that it would have been better for you to never touch me in that way, it was an instinctual movement to verify if I was hurt. Anyone on a battlefield would have conducted a similar examination, even an Elf. You should not feel bad about it. If anything, I am sorry for being as mad with you as I was. That was immature of me and it was selfish."

"You were thinking of Boromir, Arathell. It was not selfish," he dissuaded.

She smiled and gave his hand an experimental squeeze, feeling him tighten his grip on her hand. "What have I done to deserve a friend such as you, Aragorn?"

He gave her the crooked smile she loved but did not say anything for a moment. His gaze turned back to the lake where he watched for a moment, the smile slowly falling off of his face as he stared deeper into the crystal black waters. She followed his gaze, wishing that her eyes could pierce the veil of darkness that shrouded the lake and see what lay beneath the surface. "There is something out there," he muttered, leaning forward. "Can you feel it?"

She nodded and swallowed. "I have felt its darkness from the moment we looked at this treacherous lake. I wish that Gandalf would hurry his thinking along so that we can leave it already. It makes me quite anxious."

The Ranger sighed and looked at her bandaged wrist. "How does it feel?" he asked, gesturing to it.

She shrugged. "It has seen better days, but it does not hurt like it did this morning. The athelas helped."

He smiled. "I am glad."

She returned the small grin with one of her own. "It is prophesied that the King of Gondor would have healing hands; did you know?" she mentioned. "I heard it from a woman ages ago called Ionia. I believe she had an infant daughter called Ioreth at the time. And Ionia had heard it from her mother if you can believe it. She was a healer in Minas Tirith. Her daughter is no doubt, now in charge of the healing wards in Gondor."

"Being skilled at healing does not mean that I am the King, Arathell," he disagreed. "You are rumored to be remarkable at healing as well. You should be the King."

"Ah, but you see, I am a female and can never be granted such a title. It would be scandalous," she teased.

"If you say so," he surrendered before they both were distracted by the sudden clopping of rocks hitting water.

* * *

 **There it is! Let me know what you think about this one! Let's get our way to 300! :D**

 **Check out the music as always! Though this song is by Rihanna, I would very much like it if you guys listened to the Thirty Seconds to Mars version - the feeling within that version is the feeling that I am going for with the chapter here and would give you all a better picture. Thanks!**

 **Team Legathell? Or Team Aras? Let me know in a review!**

 **Love,**

 **LM**


	40. Chapter 40

**Oh. My. Heavens. YOU GUYS! THAT WAS INSANE! I don't think I have ever gotten that many reviews for one chapter EVER! Thank you SOOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH! You all are absolutely incredible! Because you guys are so awesome, I am rewarding you with an extra long chapter today! Yay!**

 **Keep letting me know what you thinking about the various pairings floating around out there! Team Aras, Legathell, Borothell, you name it!**

 **And we are 12 REVIEWS AWAY FROM NUMBER 300! If this chapter is anything like the last, please have your PM's on, have an account, etc. Number 300 will get a one-shot and I will announce the winner next week when I update. (If we get to 300 for this go around, that is). Good luck, everyone! May the odds be ever in your favor – oops, wrong fandom. Haha**

 **THIS PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE THE LAST ONE LEFT OFF!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Slash feat. Myles Kennedy and The Conspirators - Far and Away

"You seem so far and away  
Another life, another time and place  
Oh, oh, if only I could find you  
So far and away  
There's something lost and never will replace  
It seems so far away"

* * *

" _If you say so," he surrendered before they both were distracted by the sudden clopping of rocks hitting water._

Her head snapped over to the culprit, her eyes narrowing in dismay when she saw that it was Merry and Pippin challenging one another to see how far they each could throw.

Aragorn released her immediately and walked to Pippin, grabbing his arm before he could throw another rock. "Do not disturb the water," he commanded as she came up to them.

"We do not know who might live in it," Arathell added, watching the two Halflings swallow uncomfortably.

"Oh, it's useless," Gandalf complained, tossing his staff to the side and sitting next to Frodo. The Wizard removed his pointy hat, but something else caught her attention – a flicker within the water. A small wave shook a fallen tree branch and she swallowed.

"Did you see that?" she whispered to Aragorn.

"See what?" Pippin demanded, sounding very frightened now.

"Aragorn?" she whispered again when he did not answer.

"I'm sure that it was just the wind, Pippin," Aragorn assured, but she saw the look in his eye that conferred that he had indeed seen what she had and no, he did not believe that it was just the wind. They needed to hurry now. Hopefully whatever was in the lake could not survive without it and would leave them be much like a fish would. But something in her rather doubted it.

Boromir joined them at that moment, still looking upset, but he did not look at her. "Did you see it?" he murmured.

"Yes," they both answered, but he looked at Aragorn for confirmation.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We do not know," she replied, and again, he avoided looking at her, but she was fed up enough with him that it angered her more than hurt.

"You just said it was the wind!" Merry pointed out.

"Well, Aragorn may have lied about that," Arathell mentioned. "Go to Gandalf. I'm sure that it will not come out of the water. It lives in it for a reason."

"No, we are quite fine here," Merry proclaimed, his voice cracking slightly with fear.

Arathell rolled her eyes and she looked at the two Men, Legolas coming to stand with her. "That was not wind," Legolas claimed.

"Yes, we know that," Boromir droned. "What was it?"  
"I don't know," Legolas snapped.

Another wave burst onto the water and she stepped back, pushing Merry and Pippin behind her. "That was closer than the last one," she whispered. "Stay quiet, you two," she urged.

"Thellie?" Sam complained, coming up to her as well, but remained at her side.

"Watch the water," Aragorn ordered. "Do not take your eyes off of it. There is something in there."  
"And we do not know what," Arathell added when Gimli opened his mouth. "Just do as he says and watch the water. The more the better."

"What's the Elvish word for 'friend?'" Frodo's calm voice asked, completely oblivious to the third wave.

"Mellon," Gandalf pronounced and there was a sudden hissing as the doors swung open. All of them took their eyes from the water, staring at the opening in the mountain. Arathell sighed with relief and pushed the Hobbits in that general direction.

They all herded towards the cave, she and Aragorn bringing up the rear, though he insistently pushed her before him as he watched the lake nervously. "I would hope that we'd be alright now," he said quietly. "But I still feel quite uneasy."

"That makes two of us," she murmured back. "Just hurry in and hopefully nothing will happen."

"Soon, Master and Mistress Elves, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves," Gimli said proudly, marching straight behind Gandalf. She was still nervous about the lake and didn't pay much heed to the conversation they were having. "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone!" he continued excitedly, and she rolled her eyes. If only he knew how little Elves cared for feasting such as that. Even her time spent with Dwarves had never grown her tolerance levels of how they prepared their meals. A small light appeared at the front of their Company where Gandalf was. "This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!" he exclaimed, sounding so cheerful.

Her foot bumped into something, and when she glanced down at the obstruction, she gasped to see that it was a Dwarven helmet – with the head still inside. "This is no mine," she heard Boromir murmur. "It's a tomb," he concluded. With another look at her surroundings, she saw piled, hewn limb from limb around her, rotting corpses stuck in their dull armor and dusty grey beards still clinging onto dry bone. Arrows stretched out from all of them, dark and poorly crafted. She had seen arrows such as those before a number of times in her life, but it did not stop the grimace that crossed her face when she had her realization.

"No!" Gimli blurted. "No!" he exclaimed again. "No!" he wailed and she wanted to hush him for his volume, hoping that the Goblins did not hear him and that whatever monster lurked outside would continue to leave them.

Legolas grabbed one of the arrows and inspected it, confirming her fear. "Goblins," he surmised. He dropped the weapon as if it were poison before withdrawing his bow and notching an arrow to it. She and the Men hastily unsheathed their swords, watching and waiting for anything.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir growled. "We should never have come here. Now get out, get out!" he yelled, and she almost did as he bade from the command in his voice.

A clamor exploded from behind her and when she turned, all of the Hobbits were chasing after their fallen comrade. "Strider!" Sam yelled, and she yelped, rushing after him, only to have Aragorn brush past her with his longer strides. The Hobbits hacked at a large limb and her eyes widened.

"Kraken!" she yelled, getting everyone's attention.

The wounded tentacle disappeared under the water, and the Hobbits were quick to pull Frodo away from the shoreline. Instantly, a dozen more watery arms launched themselves from the water, finding their target and grasping Frodo tightly, pulling him further from them.

Again she yelled and ran into the throng of arms, hacking. She heard an arrow whiz past her, hitting the arm that held Frodo. She saw Boromir out of the corner of her eye, tackling another set of arms with his sword while Aragorn repeatedly thrashed at the ones holding their Ringbearer. She remained like Boromir, fighting her own set of arms and hacking away at them, ignoring the pain in her wrist as she tried to include it in each of her swings for additional power. The Kraken's massive head poked out of the water, displaying its head full of arms and large teeth that reminded her of fangs from a spider.

She saw Boromir slice cleanly through one of the arms, the animal roaring in its pain. In its misery, Aragorn ran to the other holding Frodo and cut through it just as well. Frodo fell from its dead arms then, landing squarely into Boromir's outstretched ones. She heaved a sigh and struck at another arm that was reaching for her.

"Into the mines!" Gandalf yelled, throwing his arm in circles to beckon them. She followed immediately, climbing from the treacherous water and going to stand beside Legolas, watching as Boromir slowly made his way through the deeper part of the water with Frodo in tow and Aragorn watching them safely with his sword arm ready for any other endangering arm.

"Legolas!" Boromir yelled.

"Get them inside!" Aragorn called, cutting another arm off.

"Legolas, please," she whispered, holding a wet hand to cover her mouth as she watched the scene unfold.

The Prince released an arrow directly between the Men's heads, hitting the beast behind them between its eyes. It roared again in pain and she laughed in surprise as it threw itself back into the water for moment. The Men hurried closer, clambering out of the water now and rushing to the cave. Aragorn grabbed her arm and dragged her inside where it was safer and Boromir rested Frodo on the ground to run into the caves himself.

"Run!" a voice yelled and she ran faster, hearing the animal also climbing from its watery prison after them. She kept her fingers tight around Ristor and turned to slice at an arm, only to have Aragorn pull on her again.

The rocks above them shook with fury and began dropping from the ceiling. She yelped and ran harder, missing the arms and rocks by inches. She had let go of Aragorn in that time, but when she turned, she saw that Legolas had his arm pulled around Aragorn's shoulders; they both were alright.

The caves turned a pitch black and she could not see anything but the outlines of her companions. The sounds of all of them panting from fear were loud in her ears and she considered going to their sides, but she knew that she would only frighten them if she was to suddenly appear. "We now have but one choice," Gandalf's tired voice sounded and she sighed, knowing that he was alright. She heard him bang his staff on the ground and light burst into the cave, illuminating the rest of the Company. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world." They began moving in the direction that Gandalf was leading them to and she met Boromir's eyes for a moment, nodding to him that she was fine after he had done so as well. She ignored him after that. "Quietly now," Gandalf continued, "It is a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed." She nodded to herself in agreement, knowing the tales well enough of this place to know that this was not the kind of place that she cared to linger in for too long.

She jogged to walk along with the Hobbits, touching Frodo incessantly to assure herself that he was alright. "You're alright?" she asked him, touching his head and looking into his eyes, seeing no sign of head injury. She investigated the rest of him speedily, sighing in relief when she saw no trace of blood on his clothing, showing that he had not hurt himself in the slightest. She repeated the process with the other three, smiling grandly at them all when they all showed no sign of being hurt. They were frightened beyond measure to be sure, but at least they had not been hurt.

As they walked, she was content to remain silent, not having any words coming to her mind at all other than how dreadful this place truly was. The rock had been shaven down by unskilled hands, leaving cracked dents in the walls and rough surfaces on bridges. With every step she took, she thanked the Valar that her weight was unlikely to disturb the bridges' integrity. The others, she could not bother to think about.

Old-fashioned pulley systems were discarded at regular intervals, some of them looking like they had been used as a last line of defense before finally surrendering to whatever horror had overcome it. More corpses littered the floor, but they were less frequent now that they were away from the entrance. Some, she could tell had been trying to hide in their last moments, seeing faint traces of a leg behind a rock, or the hilt of a sword poking around a nearby corner. She grimaced at each of those sights more than she did with the obvious ones. These were the cowards of the Dwarven world, and while they were uncommon, it was obvious that they were ever present in Moria.

They came to a doorway that had yet to look completely battered and it even still had some of the original detailed work engraved into it. She sighed at the small sign of defiance and followed on, keeping herself close to the Hobbits to assure that they would not fall over the cliff they seemed to find themselves on.

They did not go through the doorway, Gandalf leading them onto a narrow set of stairs until the pathway was barely large enough for their own Dwarf to wobble across.

Old rope dangled lifeless from mechanisms everywhere, reaching deep into the belly of the cave, which even she could not see the bottom of. She swallowed at the sight of it and looked to Gandalf. "The wealth of Moria," the Wizard began, "was not in gold, or jewels." He turned back to look at them all, a fleck of play buried in his blue eyes. "But mithril," he informed, pointing his staff down the large hole until the entire cavern shone with a brilliant white light that rivaled that of a star.

She gasped at the sight and widened her eyes, trying to take such a beauty in. She could not see the individual flecks of wonder, but the collective light burst in her soul and made her breathe easier.

"It's beautiful," she commented in a whisper.

"Isn't it?" Gimli agreed with wonder. "I have never before seen such a light. Not even the glow of gold could rival a beauty such as that."

"Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave him," Gandalf continued, having retracted his staff and moving away from the cavern with the rest of them following dutifully.

"Oh," Gimli remarked. "That was a kingly gift!"

"Yes!" Gandalf concurred with a hint of a laugh. "I never told him, but its worth was greater than that of the Shire," he mentioned.

They continued to walk along, coming to a steep set of stairs that she frankly could not begin to fathom how Dwarves managed to ascend. They were arranged to order their occupants to climb up them, making it hazardous for all who were behind an individual, for it was guaranteed that if they fell, all those behind them would fall to their deaths as well. She decided it was a poor choice of architecture.

They climbed carefully, heaving themselves up and up, past all of the corpses that had somehow managed not to tumble to the landing beneath them. The Hobbits went up behind Gandalf and Legolas, and she trailed after them closely, not looking back to see which of the Men was directly behind her. Frodo and Sam were at the lead of the four of them, and then Merry was the last, supporting Pippin in instances where the clumsy Hobbit made poor choices in footholds.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she could hear the Dwarf and their Hobbits panting, but she focused instead on the three possible hallways that were laid out before them. Given that she had never been down here for herself, she had no words of wisdom to impart to Gandalf, and he looked more than befuddled with all of his choices. "I have no memory of this place," he said quietly, but she had heard it all the same. She frowned in disapproval, but turned to help the final two of their Company climb over the last of the stairs.

Boromir, it had been concluded had been directly behind her. She pursed her lips and offered him her hand, not meeting his gaze, but hoping he would reach for her anyway. When he did, she smiled slightly to herself before helping to pull him to the landing. Quickly, he released her hand and went to stand with the others. She did not look after him, but kept her eyes downward to Aragorn. She reached for him as well and was not surprised when he latched onto her as soon as possible, his fingers gripping all the way up to her elbow. When he arrived at the landing, he gave her arm a tender squeeze and gave her a small smile before letting go of her.

"Are we lost? I think we are." Pippin asked.

"Sh! No, Gandalf's thinking," Merry explained.

"Merry?"

"What?"  
"I'm hungry."

She sat herself down beside Sam, waiting for the Wizard to come to his conclusion of which way they needed to go. "Eat while you can," she whispered to him. "Do not light any fires, but eat whatever dry food we possess. It will be three days at best before we see the light of day again, and you will need your strength. There will not be any hunting unless it is for rotten Goblin meat."

"The others should eat," Sam told her, taking out his food and beginning to pass it around. When he gave her a share of the food, she merely held onto it and gave it back to Sam once he had finished. "Miss Thellie, I could never take your food. You need it."

"I will be quite alright, Sam. Eat your meal. And then try to sleep, if it is at all possible. Even ten minutes would do you well. You are starting to have dark circles under your eyes."

"Rosie would be so put off," Merry teased, and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Do not ask me to begin how much rest I deem you need, Master Brandybuck," she retorted, seeing his cheeks turn a bright pink, even in the poor lighting.

"How do Dwarves live in such dark, dank places?" Sam asked roughly, looking up at the towering ceiling. "It is big, I grant you, but I could never feel so cramped in all of my life. The air is stuffy and there are no windows."

"Don't forget the corpses," Pippin added, trying his best not to look around the empty room.

"Actually, we should very much try to forget the corpses," Arathell disagreed. "Corpses do not incite sleeping, and that is something you four desperately need."

"I think I will go and sit with Gandalf for a while," Frodo relayed to her, dismissing her request entirely as he got up and walked to the sitting Wizard.

She frowned, but allowed him to go anyway. She watched with a small smile as the remaining three had their small share of their food, rationing it out just as she had taught Sam.

A shiver ran down her spine and she stiffened her muscles, tilting her head to hear the sounds and steady thrum of the mountain. It wasn't alive like Erebor, and the thrum here was cold and desolate. But she could feel the heartbeat still pulsing under her feet. She could still feel the power and will of the Dwarves that had one inhabited this place. Their drive had left its mark on Moria, and not just in the way of machines.

The surface noise was rather silent, apart from the gentle rustling that the Hobbits were creating with their meals. Frodo and Gandalf were whispering soft words meters away from her, but there was something else. She looked at the other Company members, Legolas being as stiff as a rock, as if wishing to hear the inexplicable noise as well. Gimli was quiet with his grief, staring unfocused at a corpse by one of the passageways. Boromir appeared to be trying to sleep, and Aragorn's gaze was far off into the distance with his pipe, his mind clearly not amongst them.

Arathell closed her eyes and breathed, hearing everything within their vicinity. A scuffling behind her made her eyes snap open and she slowly positioned herself to face in that direction, trying to seem unsuspicious. She was confident that it was not an Orc or a Goblin, for neither of them possessed qualities of being quiet on their feet. Furthermore, she doubted that an Orc of a Goblin would ever have the desire to be quiet on their feet in the first place. So she stared harder at the darkness beyond, waiting for any sign. A glimmer flashed, yellow and feral, much like a rabid dog, but she knew better. She had heard tale of such a creature before, and she had heard it from an individual within her very grasp.

Carefully, she trekked to sit next to the Ranger. "I suspect you have already noticed," she commented quietly. He did not look at her, still gazing into nothingness. "It's Gollum, isn't it? He is here?"

"Yes, he is here," Aragorn agreed stiffly. "I would rather wish he wasn't. It complicates matters in a way that we most certainly do not need."

"He wants the Ring," she supposed. "And he knows that one of us has it." Aragorn nodded. "Do you think he knows that it is Frodo?"

"Perhaps," Aragorn agreed. "We have no way of knowing without inviting the creature to our dinners and asking him."

"You sound rather frustrated, mellon nin," she remarked with an arched eyebrow.

"I am," he told her, finally looking at her. "I was charged with finding that infernal thing many years ago, and it eluded me without ever trying. It took me over a decade to finally get my hands on him, only to escape from the blasted chambers of Mirkwood," he scoffed. "And now he is appearing here on his own volition, arrogant enough to know that no one here would be able to catch him if we were to make chase. He is too clever and I do not have the time to spend to effectively trap him and keep him away from here."

"Bilbo nearly killed him," she mentioned.

"Bilbo's happening upon him was a stroke of what could be interpreted as luck. Falling in on someone's home does not classify as finding."

She sighed and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Maybe with you, he was able to escape, and maybe he was with Gandalf as well. But that was only for a time. I am quite confident that with the both of you and the rest of us, he will not be able to evade us for forever. He wants the Ring, and no matter how terrified he is of what we can do, he is more terrified of not having the Ring. We may fail, but I promise that we will not stop receiving opportunities to try again."

He scoffed at her but smiled nonetheless. "When was it that you managed hope?"

Arathell rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove. "It is not hope. It is logic and rationality that says that he will always try again. He is said to be insane, and those who are insane are known to repeat the same actions with the hope of something going right after an astronomical amount of times. It is a ridiculous notion, but there it is."

"I like to call it determination," he disagreed. "You only need one of those times to have good results. And if we are speaking of logic, then we must conclude that after such a series of attempts, he is bound to get it right eventually."

"That would be if he is trying to improve. He is simply hitting a brick wall with nothing but his fist and hoping that it will fall."

"Maybe one day it will."  
"And maybe by the time that day comes, there will be another wall behind it. It is hopeless for him."

Aragorn gave her a sad smile and shook his head at her, his bangs falling into his stormy eyes. For a moment, she wanted to reach to brush the hair away from his face, if only to see the expression he wore. It was a strange desire, and she couldn't think of a time before when she felt this way in regards to anyone. "I wish there was something that I could do to give you hope, Arathell."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. "We both know that Arwen took twice as much hope for herself, taking my complete share with her."

He shook his head again and did not respond for a time. "Keep your pessimistic opinions to yourself, or at least do not share them with anyone else. The Hobbits especially cannot know that you have this little hope for this quest. They are much like children, even Sam."

"I never said that I had little hope for this, Aragorn," she disagreed, resting her hands on her knees and staring at him inquisitively.

"You don't need to say that you do," he relayed. "It is obvious."

"To you," she reminded.

"As it should stay."

"I'm not likely to yell out to the Company that I suspect that we are all going to die in the coming days, Aragorn. I realize how they would interpret those words, and I know that it would not do them any good and only make them more distressed. They do not need to know that I am only here because I cannot stand the idea of sitting and waiting for my death to fall upon me. I have to be able to at least say that I fought for my life and for the lives of those I care about." Again, her friend fell quiet and then finally gave her a smile. It wasn't bright or happy or even sad. It was understanding and comforting. It soothed her soul slightly as she was finally able to say the words that she had been housing for centuries. No one had ever taken the time to actually listen to her words, dismissing her and her feelings before she could ever get the words out. But he was there to listen, and it made her happy. She watched as his hand fell on top of hers, perched on her knee. She didn't even take a pause to twist her hand around to clasp his, never entwining their fingers. She stared at the hands, wondering how they worked, in a sense. She felt as if she could feel his confidence and calming aura drip into her through that hand. It connected her to him in more ways than just physical. It was rejuvenating in a way that she felt familiar with, but she did not know where from. It felt… well, if there was a word for it, she did not know it. It felt good.

"We have created quite a habit, haven't we?" she murmured, raising their tangled hands up a little before dropping them back on her knee.

He nodded and gave her hand a squeeze. "Do you think it is a bad one?"

Arathell cast a glance to Boromir who was still soundly sleeping, or sleeping as well as he could in a place like this. "Probably," she admitted, looking up at Aragorn with a shrug. "But we've already established that I am apparently entitled to be a little selfish. Maybe this is one of the ways I am going to exploit this new ability."

At that, he actually laughed, a low chuckle that came from the back of his throat and made a pleasant sound that she couldn't help but grin about. "Poor Boromir," he claimed once he had sobered himself a little.

She nibbled her bottom lip and looked at the Gondorian. "I care for him, to be sure. And I do not want to hurt him. But I do not think that he is my One. I wish that he was. He is a good man, and any woman would be lucky to have him to go home to. I would be blessed beyond measure to have him love me. I want to love him. But maybe he is not who I need to love and his love may not be what I need either. I will always want him, but…" She sighed and shook her head. "He said awful things, Aragorn. I am stubborn and quick to be offended; I know this. But words such as his were not appreciated and they carved me deeply – not as bad as some words from others, but deep enough to know that I do not want that in my life." He gave her hand another squeeze. She chuckled mirthlessly to herself. "I promised not to talk to you about this anymore, didn't I?"

"If you need to talk, I will not push you away, Arathell," he disagreed.

She sighed and stared at their hands. "Who truly knows though? Maybe he and I will be able to move past the quarrel we had. I hope that we can. He is so angry with me now, and I cannot bear to see the look in his eyes as if he hates me."

"He does not hate you, so remove that thought immediately," Aragorn disagreed vehemently. "Love cannot become Hate so quickly."

She shrugged, as if the topic didn't bother her, but she felt her heart breaking within her chest and it hurt more than she ever thought it would. "Who is to say that it was really Love at all? That word is thrown about like it means nothing, and yet it is spoken of with such gravity that it makes me confused. I can only conclude that I do not think that anyone can actually define it. It is felt differently for every person towards every person. And maybe the way Boromir loves me is in a way that I cannot return, and maybe it is not there at all. Only time will tell. Until then, I will not give up on what I have with him. He is precious to me, and… I refuse to walk away until I know beyond any doubt that we are not meant for one another."  
"If this is your decision, then now would probably be an appropriate time to break our newly-formed habit," Aragorn surmised, letting go of her and staring at Boromir. "He does not like me; this much is obvious. He knows that with the way I touched you this morning, I went beyond my boundaries. To him, it should only be him to touch you in the way that I did, and I cannot deny that I would feel the same. I… do not fully understand… why I did what I did. It just… It was like I did not have any control over it at all."

Her brows furrowed at the words and she turned to look at him before Gandalf let out a bark of a laugh. "Ah! It's that way!"

"He's remembered!" Merry exclaimed happily.

"No!" Gandalf disagreed. "But the air doesn't smell so foul down here." She smiled and turned to give Aragorn a final look before walking to Boromir, shaking his shoulder tenderly. "When in doubt, Master Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

"Boromir," she whispered. "Gandalf found the way," she told him.

"I heard him just fine," Boromir shrugged her off, putting his shield firmly onto his back and walking towards the growing Company at the entrance to the middle hallway.

Arathell sighed sadly and looked down to find a smiling Sam who patted her arm. "Don't mind him, Miss Thellie. Lack of sleep does terrible things to a person. And I should know. My old Gaffer rather hates it when I wake him from his afternoon naps. And his morning naps as well. Come to think of it, the old man really just despises waking up in general."

Arathell laughed and rested her hand on his shoulder and gave him a wide smile. "Samwise, I truly do not know what kind of state I would be in currently if I did not have you by me. Whatever am I going to do when you are to return to the Shire to be with your folk?"

"You'll get along just fine, mark my words," Sam replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, walking into the hallway with her beside him. "You shouldn't make fun either."

"Now why would I make fun of a friend such as you? Especially after you comfort me! What kind of friend would that make me?"

"A Hobbit, Thellie," Sam teased and again she found herself laughing.

* * *

 **There it is! Let me know what you think about this one! Let's get our way to 300! :D**

 **Check out the music as always!**

 **Love,**

 **LM**


	41. Chapter 41

**Hello, my lovelies! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, and as I'm sure you have noticed… we have reached 300! Congratulations to RainbrowBright333 for being the 300 th reviewer! Send me a PM and let me know what you would like to see for your one-shot! I will have it up for the next chapter of BDS and I will be sure to inform all of you lovely readers about it!**

 **Don't be disheartened if you wanted the one-shot! You all will have another chance for reviewer number 400 once we get there. But, I will say that if we continue as we have been lately, that won't be very long at all! Thanks everyone for that, by the way!**

 **And Team Aras and Legathell are going head to head here… my goodness, you readers are quite invested and it makes me squeal with glee! Fight for your ship, people! Team Aras took a hit this last round with Legathell shippers staking their territory. Any Aras shipper wanna join in on such a fandom battle?**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Dust - Tremonti

"Once fell behind to carry me  
You know it was never meant to be  
Bled for the right to see it through  
And now is the time to carry you  
Why were we afraid to go?  
We asked for the truth and now we know  
The whole damn thing has turned to dust  
The ashes you left to bury us"

* * *

 **January 14, 3019 – Moria**

When she woke in the morning, she realized with a sigh that she had been left sleep through the night again without taking watch. She knew that now after partially healing, she could have great reason to be upset about being underestimated, but she knew inside of herself that she was not being underestimated. Each of her companions knew her abilities, and she was sure that they knew that she was capable of keeping watch. The fact that they were all trying to be kind was somewhat strange for her, and she wasn't entirely sure that she even liked it. But, there were ten of them, and each of them surely did not need to take a short watch during the night for everyone to feel important.

She sat up and touched her broken wrist, flinching slightly when it burst into discomfort. A part of her even wondered if she had slept on it wrong, but she knew that whoever would be on watch would not have allowed her to turn over onto it, and she would have woken if they tried to move her. The only logical conclusion was that it had been used a little too harshly perhaps the previous day and she was dealing with the consequences.

"How are you feeling?" a voice asked and she looked up to see a concerned Elf-Prince. "Shall I call for Aragorn?" he asked when she didn't reply.

She waved her good hand at him dismissively. "There is no need, Legolas," she sighed. "It is only sore. The ache will pass as the day goes on."  
He nodded unsurely and then took a seat beside her. "It is not my place, and I am aware of it, but I just thought that you should know that I thought it was very wrong for Boromir to speak to you the way that he did."

Arathell exhaled loudly and looked on ahead at the surrounding grey stone. The air felt too tight around her and she did not want to talk about this at the moment. And she definitely did not want to talk about it with him. "To be fair, however, Aragorn had no right to touch me in the way that he did."

"Arathell, you are far too proper for your own good sometimes," Legolas remarked and when she turned slightly to fire back an insult, she saw the mirth in his eyes and sighed with frustration. "It was clear to all of us that Aragorn was only trying to soothe your wounds. He never thought for a moment to try to take advantage of your pain and touch you inappropriately. I think that even Boromir could see that. Maybe he was distressed that he was not there to comfort you first."

"I know that Aragorn was only trying to help," she admitted. "I have told him as much, and I told Boromir that as well, though he does not seem to be inclined to forgive me anytime soon."

Legolas growled low in his throat. "How long will it take for you to stop allowing him to hurt you the way that he does? I can say whatever I like to you, and you know that it does not mean anything. You even know that after all of our years of rivalry, my insults do not carry the salt that they used to. But I can tell that it is different with Boromir. I saw how you looked after your… argument with him. It isn't right for him to treat you the way that he does. He may be a Lord among Men, but you are a Lady of the Elves, and the High Elves at that – a daughter of Elrond. It is a station that he could never hope to attain, and one that he most certainly never will. You are above him in so many ways; how can you let him hurt you this way?"

Arathell had long since stiffened as his little speech droned on, and when he finished, she took a shaky breath and rubbed her sore wrist tenderly. "My station and his station do not matter, Legolas. They never have where our relationship has been concerned. I realize that I could have shattered him from the moment I met him without a qualm because of my higher rank, and in a way, I suppose that I did do this. But… our relationship was not built on how beneficial it would be to join our two lands. It was built on the fact that we were drawn to one another and we feel something with each other that is impossible with anyone else –"

"Really?" Legolas interrupted with an arched brow.

"And it would be wrong of me to include ranking in our arguments now," she carried on, ignoring him. "It would not be a fair fight, and I have no desire to continue the fights that we have with childish competition. He hurts me like no one else can and while I hate it… maybe I revel in it just as much. Maybe, since I have been around the pain for as long as I have, I cannot go back to a place where I am just happy. Maybe it has grown beyond wanting love, and maybe now I want that pain."

"You do not deserve it," Legolas mentioned.

She smiled. "That may be the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

"Well, now is not the time to be playing our own little competitive game of insults. Unlike your choice in partner, I am capable of knowing when boundaries need to be respected. You two may have walked away from the Company, but I heard your exchange regardless. He thinks you are too demanding where he is concerned. And he complains that you are impossible to please. I do not see it that way at all, though. I do not mean to sound offensive, but I think being with you would be the easiest thing in the world." Arathell's face softened and she smiled further. "I do not see your actions as demanding, rather as simple requests. What more is a man to do than to be there for his woman when she needs him? And I speak from experience that you are hard to please, but that is just as well. Making a man work for love is not shameful – it shows resolve. And I think that it shows self-respect."

"Why are you saying these things? You are never this nice to me," she told him, eyeing him up and down. "Are you ill?" she teased, knowing well enough that Elves never got sick.

He shrugged and stood up. "I simply think that it is time that you heard it from someone else." She arched her eyebrow at him. "I know that Aragorn has said similar things, and if he hasn't then you should know that he at least thinks these things. You are his truest friend, just as I believe he is yours; it would be absurd to think that he has not said something like this before. I merely thought that since you were not heeding his advice to leave Boromir, I might as well state my thoughts. I doubt that it will sway you, but maybe it will show you that you are not as alone as you think, and out of all of us here… it is that Man who is alone. And it is you that we care about." He didn't give her time to respond before saying quickly, "I will tell Aragorn of your wrist."

Arathell was left to herself for a moment, deliberating over the Elf's words. It was strange to hear those words coming from him. She had hated him once with everything inside of her, and a part of her still did and probably always would just for what he did to Kara. But if he was showing signs that he was ready to move past that dark spot in their history, then she would show him in return that she wouldn't instigate his anger if she could help it. She wasn't quite confident that this meant that they were truly friends now, but it was better than being enemies.

Aragorn approached her gently with his bowl of athelas water. "You are going to run out of water in your canteen if you continue on like this. And you will run out of athelas," she mentioned. "My wrist can heal itself now well enough and should one of the others receive an injury, they should have the athelas for themselves. We obviously cannot get any in this place."

"If you are quite finished," he teased, dipping his cloth into the water and brushing her sore skin. As always, the relief was immediate and she let a pleasured sigh escape from her lips at the touch. "You need not worry about the water. I have two canteens, and one I filled only with athelas water. I still have my customary pack of dried athelas with me should we need it for the others."

"Quite prepared then," she stated, turning her wrist over slightly for him to reach the underside. He scoffed at her words, as if appalled in her little faith in him. He stroked her skin softly and it never ceased to amaze her just how gentle this Ranger of the North could be. She knew his hands were rough and calloused from the hilt of his sword, forever leaving its mark on him. She had seen him kill with precision that was frightening and she had seen the coldness in his eyes and the way that they were bereft of mercy when faced with an enemy. And yet, as he touched her now, it made her feel as if she was the horse he was brushing, snagging on nerves and pulling them with him, smoothening her frayed ends over with such care. The ridge of his callouses sanded her marred skin, perfecting her with ease. Each time his thumb accidentally fell to the side of the cloth to touch her, she felt a shiver within her. She remained stiff, never allowing these inner tremors to surface for him to see. She did not know why she wanted to hide it as she did, but something told her that this was something best kept secret.

Sometime during his administrations, her eyes shut and her head had fallen forward in a bow of surrender to him, her tangled hair covering the hint of a smile on her face. "I am finished," he murmured and she raised her head to look into his eyes, adopting her look of boredom and pretended to be waiting impatiently for him to pull away from her. But each second his fingers remained over her pulse, the more it quickened and made her warm.

"We will be on our way now!" Gandalf announced from their small camp a few meters from the two of them. She was startled out of her reverie and stood up on her own, packing away her bedroll and keeping her hair in her face to hide the sudden blush that tainted her cheeks. She still could not understand why she was reacting the way that she was, but she did not like it in the slightest.

The way that day was quiet and she had tried to walk beside Boromir for a time. He had barely even acknowledged her and it was beginning to annoy her more than hurt her now. Legolas could say what he liked, and Aragorn could think what he liked, but at the moment, this Man wasn't hurting her – he was infuriating her. Finally, after mustering her best aloof look, she forced her hand into his, demanding his attention. His hand was nothing like Aragorn's – not that that mattered.

Boromir stopped walking and swallowed, still not looking at her. The rest of the Company passed them while she waited for him to do something. He could push her from her or he could accept her. Frankly, she did not know what she wanted him to do. She would have been happy for him to do anything. It would be better than the nonchalant façade of disinterest he kept portraying. His fingers never closed around hers and he never shook her off, only stared at the way in front of him.

"Are you really going to keep ignoring me?" she asked him.

He remained silent but he did look down at her hand around his. He finally did something and it made her excited in a strange way. But he went further than looking, soon actually shoving her away with his other hand and began walking again.

"Boromir!" she called in a whisper, angrily and frustrated.

He whirled around and marched up into her face and pushed her back until she felt stone digging into her spine. She grunted at the force he exerted, but she did nothing to push him back. A quick glance to the Fellowship showed her that no one had heard their scuffle. She relaxed slightly, knowing that Boromir could not have another scandal to ruin his name with their Company. He was on thin ice as it was with them because of how he treated her; and this was something that she and Legolas could most definitely agree on. "I will not push aside my qualms with you just because you feel better about yourself after your happy little conversation with Legolas. He must have given you all the support you could ever want if you think that I am anywhere ready to speak kindly with you yet. But since when have you noticed my position about anything?"

She scrunched her nose at him and struggled slightly, only to be pushed harder. She felt her back bruise in the places where the rocks were sharpest and she fought the groan in the back of her throat. "Clearly, I did if I'm confronting you about it," she retorted, meeting that steel gaze calmly.

"And you're just being selfish because now that you are feeling better, you think it is time to move past my issues." He tilted his head to the side in question. "Is this one of those rare times when you actually need me, Arathell? Or are you looking for an itch to scratch?" His last words were sarcastic and crude and it was at those words that she snapped from anger.

She gave him a tender smile and leaned towards him, ready to kiss him. He looked confused at her demeanor, and it was then that his grip loosened slightly. She grinned smugly and threw his arms off of her and dropped low, rolling underneath his wide stance and then standing, walking up to him and pushing him against the wall. "I already told you that you know nothing of me, Boromir," she growled. Her face softened and she let go of him. "Do you love me?" she asked him suddenly. His eyes widened and he shuffled back. "You once led me to believe that you do. If that is true, then I hardly think that anyone could be this cruel to someone they are supposed to love. I have been more than tolerant with you and your issues. If I needed you, I highly doubt that my approach would have been to force you to interact with me. And if I needed to scratch an itch, believe that I am angry enough with you to sooner turn to one of these stones than I would to you."

Boromir looked beyond confusion when she walked away from him, the second time in two days. She wished she knew how many more times she was going to have to walk away from him before she stopped. Legolas was right in more ways than she would have cared to admit. Regardless of the fact that he was beyond hurting her, he was crossing boundaries and saying things that he had no business saying. She was a loyal and tolerant person to a fault to those few people that she was loyal to, but he was burning that bridge faster than she ever could have expected. If he wanted her to stay in his life, he needed to douse this fire he had created in her belly and then move to mend the places he had broken inside of her. Only the Valar would know if she would even have the patience for that.

* * *

 **January 15, 3019 – Edges of Dwarrow-delf**

She could not even say that she was surprised when she woke the next morning with her full amount of rest. Her wrist was feeling much better thankfully, and the athelas water that Aragorn had carefully applied had made it feel as if it had never been broken at all.

The halls were beginning to widen as well, decreasing the feel of bondage in her, and she could tell that the others were just as appreciative, aside from Gimli who was still moping from all of the death. She knew now that it was practically impossible for Balin to be alive after she had seen so much destruction, and when the thought had hit her, she actually stepped away from the morning meal to shed some tears.

The back of her hand wiped furiously at her face, but the tears would not stop dripping. A sob croaked out of her throat, making an incredibly loud noise that was sure to have been heard by the others. At the moment, she could not even find it within her to care if they heard her. Balin had been one of the few Dwarves who she had more than tolerated, next to Mara and Kara, and of course Kara's family. Balin was such a gentle soul with such wisdom and the thought of him no longer being in this world made her insides ache. Thorin had long since been lost, and she had felt his death as well, but Balin was special. Balin was her friend and he had been the only one to show care for her when she was living in the Blue Mountains. A part of her even saw him as a grandfatherly figure when he came through Rivendell all of those years ago.

Luckily, no one intruded on her session of tears and she composed herself to the best of her abilities before she returned to the others, still avoiding eye contact with Gimli and Aragorn. She was sure that Gandalf already knew why she was crying, but he did not say anything, only giving her a comforting smile that did not make her feel any better than she already was.

They carried on their journey moments later after the food was packed away in Sam's pack. Her steps were heavy and she kept looking at Gimli, wondering if he had worked out Balin's death yet. It was quite possible that the Dwarf was in denial and perhaps thought that once they reached the dwelling of Dwarrow-delf, Balin would be alive and well, recouping from the Goblins' attack. Arathell did not dare possess any hope on that front.

As they descended a set of stairs, all thoughts of Balin suddenly came to a standstill in her mind, and she had to force her feet to keep moving after Gandalf. The halls opened magnificently here, reaching far and wide under the protection of the curve of the mountain above her. Great stone pillars stood erected, testing time in the only way they knew. The walls behind her were decorated better than any of the walls that she had yet to see here in Moria and her breath was stolen away with the open space that filled her lungs. The rubble decorated the open floor, but even that made the experience that much more potent for her.

Gandalf paused on the landing and she stood with him, looking out with awe that anything like this could be accomplished underground. "Let me risk a little more light," the Wizard murmured to himself and then the entire room was illuminated with a bright glow that made everything seem so perfectly ethereal she gasped and touched Mithrandir's arm tenderly. "Behold, the great realm of the Dwarf city of Dwarrow-delf," he announced to them.

"Well there's an eye-opener; make no mistake," she heard Sam murmur and she could only nod in agreement.

They made their way through the forest of columns, and she inspected each one with pleasant surprise, seeing the obscene craftsmanship that was devoted into each column. Though they all had the same pattern, she could clearly see the different markings left by their different makers. Some were sharper and some were more projecting from the face while others smoothed their edges. Either way, she was amazed.

Gimli remained at the head of their Company with Mithrandir and it wasn't long before she heard him gasp loudly and then break into a run to the right. "Gimli!" Mithrandir yelled after him but he did not listen. She jogged up to the head of their group and looked to see where their Dwarf had gone. Bodies were scattered around a doorway, bathed in actual sunlight from outside. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw what lay behind the broken doors.

She walked slowly and carefully into the room, hearing Gimli's loud sobs. A marble coffin lay before her, covered and protected from the harsh environment that surrounded it. She did not need to read the inscription to know who it was inside of it. Tears welled in her eyes and she stood behind Gimli, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing as tight as she could manage.

She gazed around the tomb, seeing more bodies left to decompose on their own without any grace. There were some that surrounded the coffin and she found that she could not stare at them for so long. She continued to look around the room, seeing stairs that led to an open second floor and more columns, though these were shorter and not as grand, perhaps depicting the sadness of the death associated with the room.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin," Gandalf read from the coffin and she so desperately wanted to tell him to quiet himself, feeling the familiar ache in her heart and knowing that Gimli's could only be worse. "Lord of Moria." Gimli's tears slowed a little and she continued to squeeze, watching as he dropped his forehead to the edge of the coffin. "He is dead then. It is as I feared." Gandalf removed his hat respectfully and Gimli's wails escalated once more and she took it upon herself to kneel beside him and wrap her arm around his massive shoulders.

"He was my friend too," she told him though it made no difference in the sound of his cries.

Something must have caught the Wizard's eye for he passed his hat and staff to Pippin beside him and bent over, retrieving a book. "It was Ori's," he said, looking directly at her. "It is the Book of Mazarbul," he called it.

"Kara said that Balin had not come alone. I suspect that Óin is here as well in this room," she mentioned, squeezing her eyes shut when she thought of the two other Dwarves. How would she tell Kara that three of her friends were dead? Kara looked at Balin as her father for so long and even talked of him still in such a way. How could she tell her daughter that the only man to treat her as his daughter was dead? How would Dwalin react and Glóin and Nori and Dori? This malice, whatever it was that resided in these halls, succeeded in tearing apart more than one family that day and it broke Arathell's heart to know that one day she would have to be the messenger. A part of her even hoped that she would too be dead to deliver such ill news.

He opened the heavy book, a chunk of it falling out and onto the floor. A cloud of dust erupted into the air when Gandalf blew it away. She watched the tiny particles play in the beam of light as she listened to Ori's last words, having to constantly swallow the lump in her throat. "We must move on," Legolas deemed before Gandalf could utter a syllable. "We cannot linger."

"Give Gimli a moment," she snapped. "This Dwarf was his family and he was a dear friend. Hold your tongue for but a moment, Prince."

"'They have taken the bridge,'" Gandalf read, ignoring the debate. Boromir's hand fell on Gimli's shoulder and then his other hand fell upon hers shakily. Through her sadness, she smiled and rested her head against Gimli's helmet. "'And the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums. Drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming." At that moment a clanging erupted in her ears and she jumped in surprise, clinging tighter to Gimli when she looked to the source. Pippin stood, looking terrified beside a headless Dwarf, its body toppling over into the well and banging and clanging all the way down with a bucket soon following with rattling chains. Arathell stood up immediately and rested her hand on Ristor at her side, waiting to hear the foretold drumming. It felt like the noise never ceased in her ears and she cursed under her breath, waiting…waiting…waiting…

When the silence came, she waited, not daring to breathe. After a moment of silence still ringing in her ears she sighed in relief and patted a still kneeling Gimli on the shoulder. Gandalf slammed the book shut and walked over to Pippin. "Fool of a Took!" he yelped in a muffled yelled. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" he snapped, taking away his possessions and resting the book on the coffin. Gimli quickly snatched it up and placed it with his things.

A thrum bounced in her chest and she froze, looking at the others to see if it was something she had imagined. They all had a petrified look on their faces, staring at the well where the sound had come from. She backed away from it slowly, her back hitting one of their chests, but she did not dare turn to see who. Their hand reached and grabbed hold of her upper arm, squeezing.

The beating grew louder in her ears and it beat quicker with each dying thrum. It was as if a heart was coming back to life in her very palm, and she knew well enough that this was not a life she had wanted to save. Little yelps soon accompanied the drums, and her hand wrapped around Ristor's hilt as she withdrew it quietly. She doubted that it would have made a difference, but there was always the rare luck that she was sometimes given.

"Frodo," she heard Sam say and she looked to the Hobbit in question, seeing him withdraw a part of his sword, the blade glowing blue and warning the others. Her eyes did not dare to squeeze closed, knowing that every opportunity to take in her surroundings would benefit her. She knew that these Goblins would outnumber their Company, but if there was any way at all to use the tomb's architecture to her advantage, then she was most certainly going to do so.

"Orcs," Legolas concluded.

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 **There it is, my lovelies! Please leave a review letting me know whose team you are on! Is anybody willing to go down with their ships? Haha I do so love this game!**

 **Congrats again to RainbowBright333! You have wanted this reward for some time, and I am most certainly happy to give it to you! Remember to PM and I will have a one-shot for you hopefully in a week!**

 **Check out the music as always! This is a brand new song and I AM IN LOVE WITH IT. So therefore, I must share and promote it to you, my wonderful readers!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	42. Chapter 42

**Hey there, everyone! Thanks for all of the amazing reviews and for the favorites and follows! At this rate, we will reach 400 in no time and someone else will win a one-shot!**

 **On that note, I wanted to inform all of you that the one-shot written for RainbrowBright333 has been written and published and it is called** "Tendrils of Tradition" **and features a lovely little scene with Arathell and her mother. Go give it a read maybe?**

 **Legathell again took the cake for last chapter, though I must say, I am beginning to see several people either sway or say they would like both pairings. How exciting! Keep letting me know!**

 **PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE LAST CHAPTER ENDED! I apologize – lots of movie-verse in this chapter – hopefully the length makes up for it! STILL IMPORTANT THOUGH!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Alter Bridge - Buried Alive

"I've been buried alive  
And I don't want to be here anymore  
Reached out a thousand times  
For a hand to pull me from below"

* * *

 _"Orcs," Legolas concluded._

His voice was in her ear in an instant and she jumped when she realized that it had not been Aragorn she was grabbing like she had assumed. It was Boromir. "Arathell, I'm sorry," he whispered before running to the door, pushing it closed fiercely.

Her eyes widened and she charged after him, grabbing the other door to close it. "Are you seriously apologizing to me now?" she demanded, an arrow missing his nose by inches. "With the chance that you are going to die in these caves, you apologize now?! What kind of bastard does that?"

"Clearly your bastard," he retorted with a grunt.

"When we get out of this, Boromir…" she warned, hearing Aragorn try to push the others closer to the marble coffin while more arrows whizzed by her. Thankfully, it would seem that their aims were not perfect, which would play into their advantage enough to hopefully get the Hobbits out at least. And perhaps one of their own to act as a guide. She would gladly lay down her life if that was what it took.

"I look forward to it," he replied and Aragorn marched up to them, helping close the doors. A terrible growl erupted on the other side of the door and she sighed in frustration, recognizing it well enough. "They have a cave Troll," Boromir said in a happily sarcastic voice.

Legolas tossed them axe after axe, hoping that in some way, they could lock the door. She knew that it was hopeless, but it gave the Hobbits a moment to understand what was happening and what was being asked of them.

With the door as barricaded as it would get, they ran back to the others, Arathell perching herself beside Gandalf in front of the Halflings. Her sword was drawn and she wished that she could have Finelleth out as well, but her wrist would not have allowed it. She crouched low in front of them, snarling at the yelps on the other side. Gimli let out a roar as he stood upon the top of the tomb, holding his axe readily for the onslaught. "Let them come. There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

The doors shook as they pounded and she took a deep breath, ready to plunge herself into the throng that was soon to erupt. Tears in the wood brandished iron pikes and she watched as Aragorn and Legolas both released arrow after arrow into the gaps, rewarded with squeals of pain on the other side.

Before many arrows could be released, the left door burst open and the foulest of creatures poured into the lit cavern. "Courage, Hobbits," she drawled, twirling her sword as one approached her. Her blade struck its weakly armored back, killing it quickly. Another swung a heavy blade at her, but she ducked without worry, throwing her foot out in a kick against the Goblin. Another kick disarmed it and her blade was buried in its gut before it had time to even assess what was happening to it.

She ran to Boromir, sweeping Ristor around in a half-moon shape, slicing through the bellies of three. Hot innards poured out and she could taste their blood in the air. She spun to her left, avoiding an arrow and reaching with her blade to tear a throat open. She growled in pleasure and threw a punch at another, disorientating it and ignoring the pain that blossomed in her wrist to shove her sword so deeply into it that it pierced the Goblin standing behind it as well, fighting with Boromir. She withdrew her sword and blocked an oncoming blow from her right, bringing their joined blades low and twisting it around in her hand until its blade fell in a clatter to the ground, giving her the opportunity to decapitate the blasted creature.

Continuing to ignore the pain, she grabbed hold of her small dagger and bent over before turning around and shoving it into the lower jaw of one of them, destroying it instantly. She withdrew it and threw it across the room to hit one that was battling with Legolas.

She took a pause in her game to survey the area further, having to deviate from her course to finish another off just as quickly. Arathell jumped to the second landing as the ground beneath her feet shook and the doorway burst with an explosion of stone. A large cave Troll appeared, its neck tethered to a chain that was being controlled by several little Orcs. The Troll's eyes were beady and brutish, its nose pushed far enough back to make it almost look completely flat. However the sheer size and power that the creature controlled was enough to make her swallow. She pursed her lips and began working out how to get the handlers killed, almost wondering if it was even possible that the Troll would make a run for it if it was freed from this dark prison.

She rather doubted it, but the Orcs needed to die regardless. With that in mind, she jumped gracefully from the second floor, landing on one of the handlers with her dagger piercing its neck. Blood squirted all over her face, but she ignored it, letting out a battle cry of her own to match Aragorn's that had erupted moments before. She kicked her leg back behind her, knocking another in the face. It growled low in its throat and made another attempt to grab her, but she was quicker than that and pushed herself backwards to wrap her ankles around its neck, giving a well-practiced twist and lift to break its neck, killing it.

She stood up and stared at the Troll as it slammed its club down nearly on top of Sam. An arrow was already protruding from its breast and she threw herself at the animal, dodging the club and grabbing onto the arrow. She twisted it as much as she could and tried to push it in at a different angle. She did this as fast as she could, intending to use it as a tool to climb up to its head, but its hand wrapped around her body and squeezed, glaring at her and making her choke. She sliced with another of her daggers at the flesh of his hand but he only squeezed her harder.

The animal suddenly yelped in pain and dropped her to the floor, clutching its neck where Aragorn and Boromir were choking it with the relinquished chain. She coughed and gasped for air, scrambling to the wall for a moment as she stood back to her feet. She hurriedly checked her body, still swallowing bits of bile and trying to remember how to breathe in the process. When she had ascertained that she had not suffered any other broken bones, she gave herself another shake and a deep breath before running back into the throng.

She only noticed then that the beast in all of its fury had swung its club at its captors and had happened to strike Boromir. She yelped in worry and tried to make her way to him, only to be blocked off by other Orcs that gave her cheeky grins. She fought hard against them, keeping her peripheral vision open to watch if Boromir would wake. Even Orcs were not stupid enough to simply presume that someone was dead. They wanted his blood and they would stop at nothing to get it.

When she vanquished her enemies, she ran towards the Man again, seeing him beginning to come to. Another Orc was on its way as well, ready to strike him hard while he still fought to find himself. She screamed when it got too close but saw an actual sword fly into its body, sending it careening towards the wall. Boromir shook himself just as she approached him and she dropped her hand onto his shoulder. "You're fine," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "You're fine."

"I'm fine," he affirmed, glancing as Gimli launched a dagger into the Troll, that being the only thing truly posing any kind of a threat now. Infuriated with this, the Troll launched a personal attack on Gimli, dropping its club down hard on the coffin, dust flying everywhere as Gimli rushed to jump away from the wreckage. She gasped at the sight of it, wishing that she had the ability to undo such an action. But she was too preoccupied to give it much further thought as she engaged in yet another battle with another Orc.

The Troll continued to swing its club, knocking more and more of its own out of the way thankfully, and she rushed over to stand with Gimli to help him to his feet. The beast behind her roared in pain as Legolas struck it with two of his arrows.

More Orcs came at the two of them, and she fought hard with the Dwarf, knocking the pommel of her hilt into the face of one of them and then thrusting her sword into its gut.

She watched Legolas just as carefully and then concluded that Gimli was quite alright on his own and she ran to help Legolas in his effort to bring the Troll down. It lashed out at the blond Elf with its chain, wrapping it around one of the pillars and locking it tight accidentally. She almost laughed when she saw Legolas run across the chain easily, straddling its neck and shooting two arrows at its skull while she was stabbing as far up as she possibly could, though it didn't seem to be having the same effect.

Legolas jumped down from its back and she ran past him to another small group of Orcs that was moving in on Aragorn. They surrounded her quickly, though this did not matter and she threw her arm around in a full circle to dismember some of the less intelligent ones. Those who survived closed in tighter, but as she dropped low to the ground, she repeated the movement with her dagger, killing a few more. "Frodo!" she heard Aragorn yell, but she could not bear to look away from her targets.

The Troll let out a fearsome yell and she fought the urge to shudder, throwing a punch at a nearby Orc as she moved on to another set. A look to where the Troll was made her blood run cold – little Frodo pinned against a corner with that beast coming ever closer. She yelled loudly, but her voice was drowned out by the dying Orcs.

"Aragorn! Aragorn!" she heard Frodo yell and she screamed yet again, trying to push her way to the Hobbit, but only finding more and more Orcs in her way.

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Aragorn jump right in front of the Troll without any shred of fear in him. "No!" she yelled, kicking and swinging in any direction, praying that she would make it to them. The Troll raised its club above its head and it was then that Aragorn lunged forward with his spear, pushing it ever further into the belly of this beast and she dared to hope for a moment that it would die. It screeched louder than any of the Orcs and she ran closer, feeling a kick to her side knock her over, blocking her view of what was happening. An Orc climbed on top of her and lashed at her face, and she yelled, feeling her own blood spring to the surface. Her dagger was quick as she injected him with it repeatedly, throwing the corpse off of her and running to where she had seen Aragorn and Frodo.

When the Troll pulled away from the corner and she saw Frodo with the spear sticking from him and she froze. Merry and Pippin screamed in their fury and leapt upon the back of the Troll, stabbing its shoulders fiercely while the other members of the Company rapidly joined in with anything. Pushing away the nagging fear in her mind of where Aragorn was, she followed them, striking where she could and trying her best not to think about it, trying to focus solely on this fight.

Merry was used as a club by the Troll with Pippin still stabbing whenever he could at the back of its neck. With one final stab, Legolas released an arrow, and she watched stoically as the Troll fell dead. She didn't wait to help the others, running to where she had seen Aragorn. The others swarmed around Frodo, but when she found Aragorn, she pressed her ear to his chest, waiting with baited breath for anything. His heartbeat was fast inside of him and he shuddered awake instantly. She gasped and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, her breath shuddering in her chest. "Don't scare me like that," she whispered in his ear. "You cannot do that to me."

"Arathell – Frodo," he murmured and she reluctantly let go of him, watching as he moved to Frodo. "Oh no," he murmured, turning the Hobbit over onto its back.

A breath of life leapt from Frodo's mouth and she almost laughed at how seemingly impossible it was for him to be alright. Sam rushed over to them as well, and she grabbed hold of his shoulder tightly. "He's alive," Sam assured the others.

Frodo sat up, clutching the open hole in his shirt, panting. "I'm alright. I'm not hurt," he told them.

"You should be dead," Aragorn told him in awe. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar."

"I think there's more to this Hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf said in a comforting drawl that made her smile deeper. She touched Frodo's face, looking for any other sign of injury, but he would not have it. He unbuttoned his shirt slightly and a pale white light shone around her and they all shared a collective gasp.

"Mithril," Gimli announced.

"Bilbo gave it to you," she said to herself.

"You are full of surprises, Master Baggins," Gimli told him in a gruff voice and she could only sigh with a small smile, touching Frodo's shoulder tenderly.

Their joy did not last long, and soon the creeping and crawling of even more Goblins could be heard outside of the tomb. She looked up at Gandalf and waited, fearful for what was about to happen. They were nearly spent and if the Goblins should come to the tomb, they were trapped and completely doomed. They could not begin to hope for a miracle. "To the bridge of Khazad-dum," he murmured before fleeing from the scene, while she and the others scrambled as fast as they could to collect whatever weapons they had shot or thrown about amidst the battle. Arathell recovered her daggers and hurried back to the still collapsed Frodo.

She and Aragorn helped Frodo back to his feet before running after the Wizard, everyone else charging in front of them. She swiveled her head all around, keeping a weather eye out for all of the Goblins. Their shrieking cries could be heard more and louder as they ran, Gandalf leading them to a tunnel in the distance. She had no idea where they were going in these blasted caves, but she ran, Ristor drawn.

When she turned back to look at the tomb, she nearly screamed at how the Goblins swarmed, yelping and giggling at their running prey. Seeing how quickly they had gained on their Company, she knew instantly that they would never be able to make it to this tunnel. They continuously appeared out of every crack and crevice in the floor, surrounding them even closer and she pushed herself towards Sam, wanting to protect him more than anyone else in their group. Aragorn and Boromir could fend for themselves. Looking up, she saw the beasts seep from a crevice in the ceiling, climbing their way down the pillars and she set her jaw, prepared for whatever fight she was about to die in. Her life had been good, or at least this is what she was going to tell herself.

There was no more hope and their luck had run its course. They all stopped in the middle of the floor, swords thrust outwards, as if to fend off the storm that was approaching them. She stared into the faces of these hideous beasts, seeing the reptilian eyes of some and the sharp teeth of others. They all snarled and looked at her like she was a grand prize – something to be ravished, killed, and then eaten and not necessarily in that order.

She waited, holding her breath as she prepared for the plunge. A battle cry was on her lips when a low bellow was heard behind her. She jumped at the sound and turned to a tunnel, a light orange glow emitting from its and she could see the shadow of the flames dancing on the walls. "Mithrandir?" she whispered, not knowing what could dwell beyond there. She had heard the stories of Moria and of Morgoth, and a part of her was hesitant to lay any claim true. The idea alone that they could be facing a Balrog made her more terrified of anything she had ever experienced. She could fight with an Orc or a Goblin – even a Troll, but something as grand as a Balrog was beyond her and there was no hope. She was going to die. And she suddenly realized that she was not ready to.

The creatures surrounding them heard the noise too and whimpered in fear, running away from them in one great herd. She shuddered when she thought of their fear – something as evil as them should not know fear, and yet they were frightened. What hope was there?

Gimli laughed at them all retreating, but she continued to stare at the orange glow, crowding closer to the leader of their Company. Her chest pushed on Boromir's back, but he did not say a word, focusing just as intently. Legolas was beside him, looking fearful and Aragorn merely looked lost next to her. "What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked Gandalf in a low voice.

The light grew greater in the distance and she swallowed the whimper in her throat. She looked again at Aragorn and he met her gaze, walking to stand closer to her. His hand took hers without asking, in plain sight should Boromir turn around, but she did not push him away. She squeezed his hand until they both shook, though she was sure that he held hers just as tightly.

Another growl leapt from those depths and she blinked back a tear, reaching with her other hand for Sam, pulling him close behind her in a protective fashion. She was going to die, but she would not die a coward. She would protect those she cared about until her dying breath, and this was certain.

"A Balrog," Gandalf muttered low, trying to sound calm, but she knew better. "A demon of an ancient world," he explained. "This foe is beyond any of you. Run!" he yelled at last, charging for the original tunnel yet again. She released Aragorn's hand and pushed Sam in front of her, urging all four of the Hobbits ahead of herself and keeping her eye on the growing embers in the other chamber.

They ran harder than she had ever run before in her life, and that still was not fast enough for her. Her lungs wanted to stop breathing and her sides ached, but she did not dare stop. If she stopped, she would most certainly die. Maybe there was still a chance that they could get away, but she was not overly hopeful. But she had to try. They got to their chosen tunnel and Gandalf ushered them all in, stopping once he finally made it inside. Boromir charged forward down the steep stairs, nearly tumbling over the edge when they suddenly stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, but she saw Legolas grab hold of him tightly, pulling him back to the stairs where they both fell. She turned and saw Gandalf stop for breath, Aragorn staying behind to help the old man. She cast a look to their Company and waited with Gandalf, breathing hard.

"Gandalf," Aragorn panted, gesturing for the Wizard to keep moving.

The Wizard's hand clasped tightly to Aragorn's shoulder. "Lead them on, Aragorn," he commanded, and her eyes widened at the request, looking away for a moment. "The bridge is near," he continued, nodding in its direction. She turned towards his direction, and her eyes widened even further. How they would manage to get to it was a mystery to her, but she knew that if they did, they would be safe. Or at least they would be away from this godforsaken cave. The beast growled again behind them and Aragorn lunged toward the noise, but Gandalf gave him a harsh push. "Do as I say!" he yelled, marching back down the stairs. "Swords are no more use here," he told him.

She followed them both hurriedly, seeing that Boromir had waited for her as well. She could not find it within her at the moment to give him a smile, even a comforting one. But he gave her one, running with her down the stairs and away from whatever malice lay behind them. They ran down so many flights of stairs, she lost track after a small time, and even began jumping from set to set along with Legolas. The others did not dare such a feat, knowing that only an Elf could have the kind of balance required.

They reached a part in the stair where a chunk was missing and Legolas leapt over it without a thought, turning back for them. The Balrog grew closer, loosening some of the stones above them. She gasped at the sight of one of those stones landing in the distance beside them, demolishing a set of stairs they had just been on. She did not know how much time was left before their own set of stairs became the next target, but she knew that they needed to hurry this along.

Gandalf was at the front of them all, and Legolas called to them, waving him over. Gandalf leapt over, landing roughly, but he had made it. An arrow flew out in their direction, missing the Hobbits' feet by inches. She looked up to where the arrow had come from and withdrew her bow and arrow without a thought to fire back, killing the Goblin easily. Her wrist ached from the force, but she ignored it. She would rather live with minor wrist pain than die. She did not want to die.

Legolas and Aragorn released some arrows of their own as more hailed down upon them. She felt the ground shake beneath her and knew that their stairs would not stand for much longer. Boromir must have also sensed this as he grabbed ahold of Merry and Pippin and jumped over the ledge, landing on the opposite side just as their stairs began to crumble slightly. The jump was further now, and she knew that the Dwarf and Hobbits would not be able to make it on their own.

She shot more and more arrows, waiting for her moment to jump. She would be able to clear twice as much distance if she absolutely needed to, and she needed to protect the Company.

"Sam," Aragorn called. She paused in her shooting to see Aragorn throw him over to the other side, Boromir catching him. She heaved a sigh of relief and cast a glance with Aragorn. He nodded to her and she jumped after, landing in Boromir's arms.

She turned to continue shooting, hearing Gimli making a commotion about being 'tossed.' She could have rolled her eyes at the antics of this Dwarf, but she was too focused on surviving. Gimli released a battle cry as he jumped and she gasped when she saw that his feet had barely made the landing. Legolas reached out quickly and grabbed hold of his beard, pulling him back to them. "No, not the beard!" Gimli yelled, but was brought safely onto their stairs. Arathell lowered her bow and waited, looking fearfully at Aragorn and Frodo, the only two remaining.

Arathell yelped when the stairs crumbled even more for the two of them and they fought to climb backwards, so as not to fall. She swallowed nervously and pushed herself to keep firing arrow after arrow, but after three more, she could no longer keep her focus and watched with trepidation as Aragorn and Frodo decided how to make their way across. A part of her wondered if she could even jump back to them and throw them down. Staring at the distance a moment longer, she could deduce that it was too high for her to safely make it and she felt tears sting her eyes. She would not leave them. She could not leave them.

Another bellow sounded from behind them, closer and louder than ever. The sound shook the stairs and the foundation of everything inside of these tunnels. She yelped when a large piece of rubble descended from the ceiling, landing squarely on the stairs with Frodo and Aragorn, leaving them completely marooned. She stared at them both determinedly, trying her best to lock away her emotions to find a way to get them across. The rocks crackled and snapped under their feet, making the whole flight wobble in its stony stance. Aragorn reached for Frodo, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to steady him. "Hang on!" he yelled to the Halfling, and she could only pray that he would. Frodo looked terrified where he stood, but she was more focused on Aragorn, watching him lean from side to side and then backwards, trying to careen the mass of stairs one way or another. The rock did as Aragorn willed it and leaned back and then Aragorn gave a gentle push to Frodo. "Lean forward." With both of them leaning, she could only hope that this would work. Again, just as Aragorn willed it, the rock began moving in their direction and she moved to stand in front of the others, ready to intercept Aragorn while Boromir waited for Frodo.

When their stairs collided with hers, she threw her arms out, catching Aragorn as he stumbled slightly into her. She pulled him onto her set of safer stairs and then pulled away to look at him, inspecting him. "You're worrying me far too much today, mellon nin," she whispered in a voice of relief.

He smiled tiredly and even laughed. "That is not my intent."

"Come," she gestured, and they all began running again down the final set of stairs towards the bridge. She could hear the loud booming and banging as the discarded set of the stairs broke on its way down to the bottom of the chamber, but she did not dare look back.

When they reached the bridge, flames were literally licking at their heels and Gandalf paused, coaxing everyone to run only faster to the small bridge. "Over the bridge! Fly!" he yelled to them, bringing up the rear as they closed in on their exit. She turned her head to watch him and saw the flames dance brightly for a moment longer for a black being arose from them. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when she stared at the incredible size of the beast, seeing how its head was shaped much like a demon of old with horns that wound their way around its face. She could see a faint idea of muscles underneath the molten rock it had for a shell, and she knew instantly that Gandalf was indeed correct: swords would be of no use here.

It roared at the Wizard with breath as bright as the fire that danced on its black body, trying to scare away the Wizard. It began walking after Gandalf and she nearly screamed as Gandalf made to run after them all toward the bridge. If they could only cross it, she figured that they would be safe. The Balrog did have wings, but from the size and state of them, she knew that it would not be able to fly after them.

They made it to the bridge, and she and Aragorn led their pack. She focused hard on her footing, forgetting about everything else for a minute, as she did not like how narrow the blasted thing was. When she reached the other side, she was panting and looked back, watching the others make it over as well. With fear, she saw Gandalf pause on the bridge, turning to stare at this foe. "You cannot pass!" Gandalf yelled to the beast.

"Gandalf!" Frodo screamed, and she watched the scene unfold with wide eyes.

The beast stood up with all of its glory, fire engulfing the beast in a sign of dominance. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor." He raised his staff above his head, a white glow surrounding him. "Dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!" The Balrog raised his flaming sword and dropped it on top of Gandalf's white sphere, shattering it hopelessly and making the old man cry out. The Balrog screamed at Gandalf yet again, but Gandalf did not move from his spot. "Go back to the Shadow," he demanded, but the beast was determined. Its nostrils flared at the demand and then it proceeded to take a step onto the bridge. Her gasp shuddered out of her as her heard the stone breaking under its massive feet. The sword the Balrog wielded turned suddenly into a great whip of flame, extending itself towards their Company like Death's Hand. "You… shall not… pass!" Gandalf yelled again, undeterred. His staff slammed into the unsteady rock and a loud crack could be heard as a white light bombarded her eyes. The Balrog took another step towards Gandalf, but the bridge shattered underneath its feet, and the beast began careening down the cavernous space below them.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Gandalf still standing, watching his prey fall to its death. When the Wizard began to turn around, she saw a bright orange flash and suddenly Gandalf was hanging off of the ledge of the bridge and she yelped, ready to charge after him and pull him to safety. Legolas' arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him, refusing to let her go out on the unstable bridge. She saw Boromir lash out at Frodo, blocking him from doing what she wanted to do. "Gandalf!" Frodo wailed, and the sound tore at her.

"No! No, no!" Boromir yelled, trying to keep the Hobbit away.

She saw Gandalf struggle to make it back onto the bridge, but he hung there lamely and her heart shattered in her chest, knowing what was about to happen. "Fly you fools!" It was merely a whisper that vibrated hard in her ears before he was letting go completely. The grief inside of her was too great for her to yell and she went limp in the other Elf's arms, terrified and broken.

"No!" Frodo yelled loudly, over and over, but she couldn't breathe a syllable. She allowed herself to be corralled out of the chamber and into the sunlight once more. She thought that she would feel relief as it hit her, but all she could feel was pain.

They stopped on the rocks, and she stood, watching everyone crying. Her vision blurred, but she did not bother to swipe at the new tears. They fell from her eyes quietly and she walked carefully to Sam, who was weeping loudly with his head in his hand. She brushed her fingers through his hair, not saying anything to the Hobbit. There was nothing for her to say that would bring him any comfort. All he could have from her at the time was to know that she was there, grieving along with him.

She stared at the others, seeing Boromir holding Gimli back, both of them making sounds unintelligible to her ears, but she knew what they were trying to say. Another glance, she saw Merry leaning over a wailing Pippin, both of them not knowing how to cope with such evil. They had never seen the likes of it this close and she wondered briefly how they were going to manage. Legolas looked lost and broken, having known Gandalf for almost as long as she had. Where would they go from here?

"Legolas," Aragorn called and she stared at the Ranger, feeling just as lost as Legolas looked. "Get them up," he commanded and she breathed a shaky sigh and hugged Sam to her closer.

Legolas looked confused for a moment and then hastily moved to the two lone Hobbits, helping them both to their feet. "Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir yelled at their new leader.

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with Orcs," Aragorn reasoned. "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien," he ruled, sheathing his sword. "Come, Boromir, Legolas. Gimli, get them up." He ran to her and Sam. "On your feet, Sam," he murmured to the Hobbit, pulling him up. He looked at her, but she stared at him blankly. "Come along, Arathell," he murmured to her and she gave him a broken nod. "Frodo?" he called, turning away from them, staring in the direction that the Hobbit was walking. "Frodo!" he yelled again, and he turned around to stare, waiting for them. Fat tears were rolling down his cheeks and she felt her own eyes stinging again.

* * *

 **There it is, my lovelies! Leave a review, check out** Tendrils of Tradition **and take a listen to the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	43. Chapter 43

**Hey there, everyone! Thanks for all of the amazing reviews and for the favorites and follows! I cannot believe that 175 people are following this story! Thanks for the wonderful support! At this rate, we will reach 400 in no time and someone else will win a one-shot!**

 **Team BOTH came up with the win for last chapter, I believe! Thanks for all of the feedback! It is great to know that you guys love Arathell enough to stick with her despite ambiguity on the pairing. That should be cleared up relatively soon! Not this chapter… but VERY soon. :D Keep letting me know what you think though!**

 **PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE LAST CHAPTER ENDED! This chapter is kinda shorter than others; I apologize. However, there are some scenes in here that are not in the movie, so that should be for your reading pleasure.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

In Loving Memory - Alter Bridge

"I've never knew what it was to be alone, no  
'Cause you were always there for me  
You were always home waiting  
But now I come home and it's not the same, no  
It feels empty and alone  
I can't believe you're gone"

* * *

They walked a great distance that day and her face remained moist with fresh batches of tears arriving regularly. The others did not speak of them, as they all had some to shed as well. Her bones felt older suddenly, and the weight felt heavier, closing in around her and squeezing until she could no longer breathe air into her chest. Though she was not the only Elf on this journey, it came to her that she was officially the oldest of them all, expected to have the greatest wisdom and knowledge of the places of the world. The pressure that fell over her made each of her steps hurt and it made her fear the next footfall. She could not imagine the kind of weight their Wizard had lived under.

A great lake appeared before them all at once it seemed and for a moment, she paused in her wallowing and looked at with concealed wonder. While not having gone through Durin's chambers before, this lake was familiar to her – Mirrormere, she believed it was called in Common Speech. In Sindarin, it lived on with the name of Nanduhirion, or at least that was the given title of the valley.

From the distance, she could see to the very bottom of the clear pool and the freshness soothed her soul slightly. Gimli released a loud gasp and ran towards it, inching along when he became very close.

"We cannot linger, Gimli," Aragorn told him as the rest of the Company approached.

"You would not say such a thing if you knew of this lake's significance, laddie," he retorted. "It is said that when Durin, the Lord of all Dwarves, emerged from Gundabad, he came upon this body of water. He gazed into its depths and saw the stars, reflected perfectly off of their surface. Never before had he seen the stars or such a sight. And it was then that he made the decision to erect Khazad-dum as his dwelling. And just there, somewhere over there, signifies where he actually stood. Come quick, young Hobbits! Come look at the water and Durin's Stone!"

She watched as Frodo and Sam moved to look into the water, both staring with confusion mixed with a respectful awe that satisfied Gimli just fine, it seemed.

"Gimli, we must go!" Aragorn demanded once more. "We have not the time to visit and stay here any longer. We have tarried enough as it is. I do not have the strength, as I am sure the others do not as well to battle anymore Goblins for the evening. Another day perhaps if we should come by this road again."

"The Redhorn Pass is close to here, Aragorn," Boromir mentioned as he drew alongside them. "It is just towards the Southeast, if we should wish to take it. I suspect that Rohan will still be open to our coming."

"That is where you are wrong," Aragorn disagreed. "Gandalf learned quickly that it was not meant for our Company to go that way, and I will not be the first to break his wishes. If you wish to march to your kingdom, please do, but enough with your incessant complaints. We are going to Lothlórien to speak with the Lord and Lady there and there will be no further discussion about it. Now, everyone come along as once!" he grumbled fiercely, marching again in towards the woods.

She gave the Man a tender smile. "He saw Mithrandir as more than a simple friend," she murmured quietly, resuming their walk after the Ranger. "There were times, no doubt, where Aragorn saw him as a second father, after my own, of course. As did I," she admitted. "You must forgive him for his shortness. I do not believe that he has ever been forced to grieve in such a way before. His mother is gone, but he knew of her passing long before it happened, and it eased his pain when it occurred. He was not given any kind of warning with the Wizard."

Boromir arched an eyebrow and she realized then that perhaps she and the Man were not truly back on perfect terms. Maybe it had been the heat of the moment when the chance of death was hanging over their heads that he was able to confront his pride and stubbornness. Maybe it was wrong of her to believe that he had meant his apologetic words when he said them. Maybe they were out of courtesy to ease her mind should he perish. With those thoughts in her head, she huffed and began walking on again.

* * *

 **January 16, 3019 – Outskirts of the Woods of Lothlórien**

She did not know how long they walked, but her feet carried her the distance. Everyone else had dried their eyes, but hers were a constant state of wetness. She even dismissed the blur in front of her eyes after a while, her body adjusting to see just enough.

Sam stayed beside her the entire way, and she kept her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it maybe too tightly, though he never commented on it.

When softer ground appeared under her feet, she looked back at the moment, feeling as if now she truly had to admit that they were alone without Gandalf. She had left him behind, and that was something she had sworn to herself that she would never do. She had not had much choice in the matter, but nevertheless, she had broken her promise to the Wizard.

She could still think of all of the wise and funny words that he had ever spoken to her. She could still see the playful twinkle in his blue eyes, especially when he spoke of her future happiness. There were times in her life when she considered him more of a father than Elrond. Elrond had definitely been more constant and therefore more involved in her life, but Gandalf had soothed her nerves and had spoken to her as an equal, even when she could never hope to be considered as such. Elrond may have treated her equally by allowing her to take part in the numerous Councils, but he had berated her still – finding some flaw that she needed to improve.

Vaguely, out of the corner of her still-damp eye, she saw Aragorn charge ahead, and she could hear splashing. Blinking hard to push the tears away, she looked up at the Ranger, stern and stoic. He was on a high rock, staring down into a valley, but she did not need to guess what he looked at. The babbling brook in front of her told her what she needed to know.

Her grandfather had, no doubt, already seen her incessant weeping, and Galadriel had enough sense regarding her blood to know when they were all troubled. Despite both of them most likely knowing of her strife, she knew better than to appear as she was in front of them. They were the lord and lady of Lothlórien. They were idols in the whole world, and she was their blood. To appear weak, even to one of their lower officials would be a crime. Her name was tarnished enough as it was with Shadow whoring herself out to a task unimaginable and Arathell Duvainith fighting for the affection of anyone. She was either hopeless or greedy in the eyes of the Elves. She refused to add weak to that list.

The water from the brook seeped into her breeches and shoes and she paused for a moment to sigh and pool some water into her hand to splash over her face, still covered in dirt, grime, and blood. She gazed up at the sun and nearly smiled, the coldness bringing her some relief. "Thellie?" she heard ask, shuffling on his wet feet, obviously eager to get onto dry land.

"Close your eyes, Sam," she whispered. When his feet stilled she pulled him closer. "Feel the water cleaning you? It is washing away some of the heartache. It is easing the pain of our feet."

"I think it is cold. And Strider said we needed to be moving on," he argued.

She sighed and opened her eyes, looking down at the Hobbit, whose eyes were still closed. "We are close to our destination. No harm shall befall us anymore this night. And you may open your eyes now if you wish." Sam did so hurriedly and then began walking quickly from the water, realizing that they had fallen behind everyone else. "There will come a time soon, Sam," she said quietly, walking with him, "that we will not be able to feel such water. On a path this scenic and… memorable…you can still hear the birds if you listen hard enough. Mordor does not have trees, Sam. And it does not have clean and cool water. You need to savor moments like these where you can. Imprint them on your memory so when the days are dark and birds don't sing, you can still think of the beauty that this world holds. You can think of what you are trying to protect. Let the memories be a way of reminding you of the reason for your goal."

"I don't want anyone else to die," he grumbled. "That is my reason for this journey."

The fact that he had used the word 'else' had made her frown and she clenched his shoulder once more. "There is no promise that anyone can make to make such a feat happen, Sam. Men, Elves, Dwarves… Wizards… anyone can perish in the flames of war. I am here to say that I fought until my dying breath, but you are a gardener, Sam. I am cold to the heart and kill because I derive a mutated form of satisfaction from it. I do not wish this for you. The name Shadow does not come with pleasant connotations. You are a gardener," she repeated. "You are whole in soul and you are good. Do not let war tarnish that goodness even a little. Save the world not because of the evil infringing upon it, but because of the good that is still fighting back."

She looked up from the Hobbit when he did not reply and saw a lining of trees and she sighed again. "What is it, Miss Thellie?" Sam asked her.

She nodded to the woods. "We can call it a home away from home." She scrunched her nose at the title, silently admitting to herself that she had never truly considered her mother's birthplace a home in her heart. She had never considered Rivendell such a place either. Erebor had not managed to take hold of her heart. Arathell Duvainith simply did not have a place that she could call home. She had no home and no one.

The speed of their company picked up as they approached the trees, everyone pumped with energy to flee at the last second from the coming darkness, terrified that they would not make the extra step into the cover of the woods. Once the trees enveloped her, she saw the path clearly they were on.

 _It has been some time, granddaughter,_ a rough melody of a voice blew into her ear and she pursed her lips.

 _Not as long as you make it seem,_ she retorted gruffly and then closed her mind to her kin. Galadriel would have easily been able to demolish Arathell's mental resistance with the superiority of her age alone, but Galadriel had never intentionally hurt her. She loved Arathell perhaps more than she loved Elrond, or at least that was how she made it seem. Arathell was a favorite of hers and if Arathell refused to talk, then Galadriel would respect her wishes and not say a word to her. Galadriel even had the habit of giving her granddaughter whatever she wanted. She snarled under her breath and reopened the connection, instantly feeling her grandmother's ethereal hand entwining itself around the tendrils of her mind. _Leave Samwise Gamgee alone as well._

 _Such darkness your Company carries with you, Arathell._

 _You already know what we bear._

 _But it is the newest burden I am most concerned with. Mithrandir is not with you. I cannot sense him._

 _I will not speak of that. You will not torment the Halfling._

 _It was not him I was interested in._ Before Arathell could get another thought in her head, she felt the connection snap and she glanced at Frodo who was walking along comfortably. She waited and watched for her grandmother's intrusion. After another minute or so of Frodo remaining seemingly untouched, she ground her teeth and took an inventory of her surroundings. The leaves, a misty green grey were beginning to fall from the silvery trees. A perpetual fog mottled everyone's senses, but she saw through it easily, making sure to take each step with care. She had been in these woods before, and she knew how heavily they were patrolled. If the increase of fear did not influence a growth in guards, then her grandfather's foresight surely did.

"Stay close, young Hobbits," Gimli try to whisper, beckoning the four of them to him. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods: an Elf-Witch of terrible power." Arathell felt torn between laughing and snarling at the title given to her kin. It would be a Dwarf to deem Galadriel a Witch, but only the wise would be aware of how she was much more dangerous than a mere Witch. But the derogatory name did not take to Arathell. "All who look upon her fall under her spell." Now Arathell could only bite her lip to keep from smiling. It was true that Galadriel had the power to ensnare, but she had rarely ever employed it. Her beauty alone careened most into doing as she wished. But Dwarves – a race hidden from the beauty of Elves – could very well become enraptured with someone like her grandmother, a queen of beauty and pride. "And are never seen again," Gimli continued.

She rolled her eyes and maintained her pace in front of them, walking beside Boromir. He did not say anything in regards to her presence but he did not push her away either. Whatever had happened in Balin's tomb was something she was clueless as to how she was supposed to address. Was it something to address at all?

"Mr. Frodo?" she heard and her head snapped back to the Hobbit in question, seeing the familiar confused gaze in his eyes. She moved to walk with him instead and rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Well," Gimli commented and she suddenly felt another presence. She froze almost immediately and looked around her, spotting one, then two, then three. They would be surrounded. "Here's one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox." An arrow appeared in his face instantly and her bow was drawn with an arrow lightly strung to it. She did not aim it like Legolas did with his, only brandishing her calm and collection within the wood.

Arrows were pointed at everyone and when one Elf pointed an arrow at her, her head swiveled to the offender and gave him a hearty glare. She took a step closer into the arrow and shoved it away harshly. "You do not know who you aim at, foolish boy," she growled in her own tongue. The Elf looked frightened for a moment and hesitated. "Put that away before you get yourself hurt. I am not gentle with those who threaten me." She said this all in a voice just above a whisper, and his eyes widened even further.

Another cool voice erupted in her ears and she forced herself to hide the smile that wanted to bloom on her face, continuing to stare down the Elf for a moment longer. "The Dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," he commented. "Arathell, you need not frighten my men."

She scoffed loudly and turned to her friend, finally allowing a smirk to show, transferring her tongue to the Common Speech. "This one is not yet a man. He is a boy. If he was, he would surely know better than to aim at me. This is as much my home as Rivendell, Haldir." She walked confidently to her friend and gave him a larger smile when he did not reply. "Come now, mellon, this is no way to treat an old friend."

"And the others?" he asked her in Sindarin, his voice a quip of a question that gave her slight pause. "We know the Prince and we know Aragorn, but you bring a Dwarf with you, Arathell."

"You know each other?" Pippin piped from behind her.

"And you know well enough that I have gone so far as to raise a Dwarf. They do not bother me, as they should not bother you," she replied, not bothering to speak with him in her language, ignoring Pippin. "And you should already be aware that there was always the chance of our Company walking through these woods. Celeborn and Galadriel would have warned you of it."

"And Mithrandir?" he retorted, this time in the Common tongue.

She huffed and set her jaw. "I will not speak of that so close to the borders. The evening is coming and that is when spies are most prolific. Your trees are not feared like Mirkwood."

Haldir sighed and began walking from them, the other Elves following though they each cast a hateful glance at Gimli who only growled.

"How do you know him, Thellie?" Merry asked once they perceived that the other Elves were out of earshot, which could not be further from the truth.

"Haldir is one of my oldest friends," she replied coolly. "He visited Rivendell once when I was younger and we have been good friends since. I am not the only one here who knows him, Merry."

"Well then how do the others know him?" Pippin replied.

"And you said that this was like your home," Merry pointed out.

"They can hear you just fine, in case you were wondering," Legolas mentioned and the two Hobbits quieted themselves instantly.

Arathell gave them both a gentle smile and then stalked up to the front of their company, coming to walk with Haldir. "You do not seem overly thrilled," she commented lightly. "It has been many years, Haldir. I would expect a better reception."

"The evil you bring with you is likely to do that," he answered gruffly, staring straight ahead. She pursed her lips and stared ahead of them, seeing a faint twinkle far in the distance. There was her grandmother. "Who are the others in your Company?" he asked her suddenly and she stared at him out of the corner of her eye.

"The Man is Boromir, son of Gondor's Steward, Denethor. The Dwarf is Gimli son of Glóin, a part of the Company that reclaimed the Mountain. Our Ringbearer is Frodo Baggins, a nephew to Bilbo Baggins, and his gardener, Samwise Gamgee is present as well. Two of Frodo's kin join us – Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck."

"Both of those names are even known here. Tooks and Brandybucks have long been a source of entertainment in our discussions. Our escorts have seen their kind when taking our own to the Grey Havens. They are rather adventurous," Haldir mentioned.

Arathell smiled at the news, knowing how much joy the two in question would garner from such information. "Until yesterday afternoon, we were… a much more joyful bunch." She furrowed her brow. "Argumentative, but we were joyful still. I was."

Haldir gave her a calculated look, one that she had learned quickly in their friendship. Haldir did not have the gift of visual truth like she did, but he did not even need it sometimes. It wasn't that he could see the thoughts of others, but he could make a judgment based off of a small instinct. "He did not leave on his own volition, did he?" he asked cryptically, but she understood the meaning well enough.

She swallowed the ball that appeared in her throat and stared at the ground to keep him from seeing the tears that formed in her brown eyes. "No," she croaked with solemnity. "No, he was taken from us, Haldir." She took a deep breath and looked up, focusing on the path ahead of her.

Her friend was silent for a long time, but she knew him well enough to know that he was grieving in his own way. He was a stoic character and always had been – last to show emotion but perhaps first to feel it. "He was already of millennia by the time I arrived on this earth. I cannot remember not thinking fondly of him. He was one of my oldest friends," he commented finally, the words direct and cold as they came from him.

She smiled grimly and reached to touch his shoulder, continuing to walk on. "I do think that everyone could say such a thing of him. Sometimes…" she closed her eyes and released him, thinking better of saying her thoughts. Gandalf was more than a friend to her. Gandalf had even become closer to her than her own family – so much so that she could not remember him ever not being considered family in her eyes. There were times even when the Wizard was more of a father to her than Elrond was. And he left her. He left them all.

"You do realize that normally, we would demand them to be blindfolded." Arathell nodded but did not say a word. "The Lord and Lady have already relayed to us that this treatment was not needed. Lady Galadriel trusts you implicitly and believes that if you can trek to the most fearsome place in Middle Earth with these companions, they do not need a blindfold." Arathell smiled at the words and inclined her head a little in thanks. "We are almost there," Haldir mentioned, gesturing ahead where she could see the sun beginning to droop in the sky, making bright colors of orange, yellow, and pink erupt in vibrant hues, touching the tips of the trees tenderly like kisses. In the distance, the twinkling of her grandmother was closer to her and she raised her head high, the air of regality falling around her like a shroud. It seemed that Caras Galadhon forever would evoke such a reaction from her. It was a place where she was always expected to prove herself. She needed to show the decorum and grace of one of royal descent, yet display the fierceness and power of a warrior, all while keeping the pride of being related to the lord and lady of this land. "Or rather, we would almost be there," he commented dryly, turning in another direction and walking towards it.

Arathell paused in her movements and stared after him and then looked towards the city, confused. "Where is he leading us, Thellie?" Pippin asked in a whisper when he approached her.

She ground her teeth and gave the Hobbit a small pat on the shoulder. "Not to where I suspected," she replied and walked after the blond Elf, her long strides helping her broadside him quickly. "You are not in the position to make orders as hefty as this, Haldir," she told him.

The sky was darkening around her when they finally reached a small settlement of the Galadhrim. The sun was no longer able to reach such a faraway crevice and the forest glowed blue as night looked to envelop them all.

He ignored her of course and only spoke when he turned to stare at their Company, perched on a leaf of the settlement's stony architecture. "Welcome, Legolas, son of Thranduil," he greeted calmly, extending the proper Elven greeting that made her impatient.

Legolas returned it, but with far less vigor, she noticed. Clearly, Legolas had not been expecting to be led here either. "Our Fellowship stands in your debt, Haldir of Lórien," he replied in Sindarin.

Haldir turned his attention to the Men of their Company, "Ah, Aragorn of the Dúnedain, you are known to us." He repeated the greeting and she pursed her lips. She had not been aware that Aragorn had never had the opportunity to meet the Captain of Lothlórien during his visits. No doubt the Ranger had spent much time with her sister rather anyone else. Did he know Galadriel and Celeborn, she wondered.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves," Gimli snapped, sounding extremely annoyed. "Speak words we can all understand!" he barked.

"We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the Dark Days," Haldir answered in Common Speech with a hint of repulsion that she was confident Gimli would love.

Surely enough, Gimli retorted quite quickly, "And you know what this Dwarf says to that?" He finished with the Khuzdul growl that made her grimace. Saying that he would spit upon her friend's grave was surely not the best way to gain entrance into the city.

Aragorn turned and gave a hard smack on Gimli's shoulder, staring down at the Dwarf. "That was not so courteous," he told him. "We are guests here and you should act with more manners."

"They do not treat me with any particular kindness; why should I give them such a courtesy?"

"Because you are not dead," Arathell sneered. "What we ask of them is nothing short of breaking many of their codes and policies and with insulting them at each turn, we are sure to not receive entrance. We need counsel in this hour, and what's more, we need to get to the Anduin. We have no other way at this point but to go through the forest and we will not be able to do that if you insult them so! Keep your tongue tucked away if you cannot think of nice words. I'm sure that they would even appreciate it."

Haldir moved away from the Dwarf and looked past at the Hobbits, his eyes settling on Frodo. His face contorted with a pain that she recognized well. "You bring great evil here," he commented tightly. "You can go no further," he ordered with a raised voice, looking at Aragorn with severity.

Aragorn walked after Haldir, receiving an archer of the Galadhrim in his way, but Aragorn pushed the boy aside with ease and she followed him, grasping the archer's arm. "Have you heard of Shadow, ellon?" she murmured with an arched brow. The Elf's face became pale and he put up no struggle and allowed her to pass. "Haldir," she called. "Please you must let us pass," she begged in hushed Sindarin.

"I will not allow it," Haldir answered in kind. "Our borders are troubled enough already with this growing malice. Welcoming the Ring of Power into our woods would be the doom of all Elves. We are the last safe haven of Middle Earth for the Elves."

"Tell me you have not become Thranduil in your old age, Haldir," she pleaded incredulously. "We would jest forever about how selfish the old King was."

"We need your protection," Aragorn added. "The road is fell!" he continued. Haldir shook his head. "I wish we may come with you," he told him and she sighed heavily in agreement. "Please, understand we need your support!" Aragorn tried once more. "The road is very dangerous."

"Aragorn," Haldir drawled, sounding forlorn, but she knew with the one word that her friend had broken the indifferent mask of the Captain.

"Do not force us to be alone in this world, my friend," she mentioned, further pushing him.

Haldir sighed and gave a stout nod and walked to the others and she gave Aragorn a smug smile. "You will follow me," the Captain ordered to the others, not waiting for a moment for the others to follow him.

She stared at them all, wondering how much longer they could carry on this way without rest. They had been moving since Balin's tomb, and that was in the early hours of the day before. With danger no longer imminent, she knew that they did not have much longer before they would need rest.

* * *

 **There it is! And Haldir is back on the scene! Yay! Not a whole lot of romance in this chapter, but perhaps that is good. Gives us all a time to retain focus on the actual story that blessed Tolkien graced us with, yes? Let me know what you think! Next chapter we arrive in Lothlórien! Big things, people. BIG. THINGS. SO. BIG. So leave a review!**

 **And check out the music! This one is for Gandalf, so please have a listen!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	44. Chapter 44

**Hello, everyone! How are you all doing? I didn't hear from as many of you this last go around. Haha**

 **Well, I have something to announce to you all… I have officially finished writing BDS. I finished it last week, and let me tell you, it was an incredibly emotional moment for me. I have been with Arathell for over two years and to close her book… ooh it was hard. But at least I have still have the pleasure of reading it again with you guys and making sure that it is in tip top shape.**

 **Which brings me to my second point. I have told some of you and some have even asked, but I wanted to let everyone know now. I DO intend to write Kara's story. I have ideas for how it is going to go already and I have hopes that even though you guys know how her story ends, I will still be able to make it interesting. I haven't started writing however as I am still trying to put the finishing touches on BDS, and I won't be posting it for a long time. But that is something to think about.**

 **This chapter is EXTRA LONG. So please, please, please leave me a review! There are big things going on this chapter, and I am expecting to hear some digital gasps. Please! Thank you!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Elton John - Someone Saved My Life Tonight

"And someone saved my life tonight sugar bear  
You almost had your hooks in me, didn't you dear  
You nearly had me roped and tied  
Altar-bound, hypnotized  
Sweet freedom whispered in my ear  
You're a butterfly  
And butterflies are free to fly  
Fly away, high away, bye bye"

* * *

 **January 17, 3019 – Outskirts of Caras Galadhon**

She soon discovered that their intent was to never stop in their trek to the city. All of the Hobbits were breathing heavily and even Sam had shamefully asked Aragorn for a lift after she took Pippin onto her back. Boromir easily carried Merry and Legolas took hold of Frodo without the Hobbit even asking. The four had slept on their backs for what felt like hours, and even the strength of the Men could not last for forever.

Gimli moaned and groaned with each passing step, wishing constantly aloud that they could arrive at their destination so that he may take some rest.

When the sun began to set, they finally approached the outskirts of the city and she smiled fondly at it, resting her hand on Sam's shoulder when he climbed off of Aragorn. She held her head high as she stared, pride running through her as she knew it ran through Haldir. "Caras Galadhon," he announced. "The heart of all Elvendom on Earth – realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light," he finished with such pride she smiled despite her desire to appear stoically regal.

Suddenly, it seemed that everyone flew with great energy to the mass of trees, eager for food and rest. She found her own feet carrying her quicker simply for the desire to see her family and to take comfort within their auras. And she found herself strongly desiring for a bath in one of her grandmother's crystal clear pools.

Night was upon them by the time they reached the innards of the city, and all of her kin's spells made the trees sparkle in a familiar light. Staircases wound like thread around the trees, forever tightening their loving hold over the plants, and they walked carefully up those stairs to the heights of the city. It was a walk that she had done many times before. When their feet came to the landing, Haldir led them to the front of an even more impressive stair. She could hear her fellow Elves singing from the streets of the forest and it enunciated the sudden glow that encompassed her. Aragorn stood at the front of their company, and she soon found herself standing beside him, with her head held high.

She could hear the Fellowship gasp behind her at the sight of Lady Galadriel and she smirked. The Lady of Light held lightly her husband's hand as they walked and she felt a calm fall over her troubled soul. Aragorn raised his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from her grandmother.

"The Enemy knows you have entered here," Celeborn drawled with arrogance that she could never forget. "What hope you had in secrecy is now gone." He paused and she pursed her lips, noticing with a twang of sadness that her grandfather did not even acknowledge her presence with a glance. It stung deeper than she could ever have imagined. "Nine that are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land," Galadriel murmured in a voice just above a whisper. Arathell's lips pursed tighter and she looked away instantly, feeling her throat tighten at the poisonous words. "He has fallen into Shadow." Celeborn stared at his wife with a look of fear.

"He was taken by both Shadow and Flame," Legolas interjected. She cringed at the word. Never had she hated her title more than in that moment. She was Shadow. She should have fought harder against the Balrog. A true Shadow could not be bested by its own. "A Balrog of Morgoth," he explained, "for we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," Galadriel answered defensively. "We do not yet know his full purpose," she added carefully. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dum fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glóin. For the world has grown full of peril. And in all lands, love is now mingled with grief." She saw her grandmother turn, looking at someone behind her. She heard a sound of weeping and cast her eyes backward to see that it was Boromir, shaking and frightened.

 _Stop it,_ she growled in her head, glaring hard at her kin.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf hope is lost." Celeborn asked, not bothered by the weeping. She ground her teeth and stared angrily at her grandfather. After all they had gone through, it was wrong of them to push so fiercely against their weakened emotions. They were tattered and frayed enough, but her mother's parents could never resist giving a stray thread a good yank, unraveling all for them to see, as if they could not already see the turmoil without putting them through that pain. It was a trait that had unfortunately been passed down to the youngest of Elrond's children. Only now, it wasn't Arathell who was pulling the thread loose.

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," Galadriel answered for him. "Stray but a little, and it will fail to the ruin of all," she surmised and again she glared.

"Is this necessary?" she demanded aloud, calling their attention upon her and startling them both it seemed. "We are tired and worn and we have not stopped since we left those cursed mines. If you cannot think of anything comforting for my company, then we will be on our way. We have faced enough negativity to last us for a good many centuries," she snapped. She heard the intake of breath from some of the Company behind her, shocked that she would care to be that forward with two such individuals in their land, no less.

Galadriel gave her a grin and Celeborn stared disappointedly, though she could not find it within her to care much about his opinion at the moment.

"Yet hope remains while the Company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled," Galadriel purred in her most motherly voice. She recognized it well, knowing that it was a voice reserved for magically soothing sores and mental grievances, but this would not work on her. Arathell had long known of it, and she refused to allow herself to be pulled into the ploy. "Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep with the protection of the Elves."

The others all began to turn away from the Lord and Lady but she remained steadfast, folding her hands in front of her. "Arathell?" Boromir asked, reaching for her and casting wary glances at the two still standing patiently. "We should not linger here."

"Arathell must trade words and apologies with her kin," Celeborn growled.

"Kin?" Gimli and the Hobbits gasped.

"Yes, we are kin," Arathell explained tiredly, wishing to have hidden that secret for just a spell longer. "Go," she ordered them and watched as they all gave her nervous looks, except Aragorn and Legolas who already knew of her relation to them. "I will be along in a moment. You need not worry for me." Again, they appeared hesitant, but they slowly made their way from the chamber, leaving her with her grandparents. "I would have preferred they not know of my familial lineage," she mentioned, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "They should not feel so threatened by me."

"They listen quite well to you," Galadriel commented, the air of perfection falling from around her as she resembled more the woman Arathell had grown up with.

"I have seen the influence you hold over each of them," Celeborn added. "Especially the Man and Hobbits. Even the Dwarf respects you."

"We have simply been a Company for a time. We all respect one another," Arathell dismissed with a wave of her hand. "And I am not about to apologize for my words, Grandfather. I believe wholeheartedly that you went beyond privileges with your words. They have seen enough peril to last them lifetimes beyond which they are each given. Keeping up their spirits is no small task, and you make it harder by pointing out the miseries we have faced. Gandalf was not only a friend to the Elves. The Hobbits and Gimli loved him dearly, as did the Men. You speak often enough how we are not to treat the races so drastically different from ourselves, and yet you never once took into consideration their pains during this conversation. They are just as great as mine or Legolas'."

They both stared at her, Galadriel failing to hide the piece of pride that dwelt in her eyes. Celeborn did not look as pleased, but he appeared intrigued. "And you care for them too," he finally commented.

"They are my Company; of course I care, my lord," she rebutted.

" _Your_ Company?" Celeborn questioned, arching an eyebrow in the way only her family could do. "Are they truly yours?"

She swallowed and held her head high, calmly meeting her grandfather's gaze. "Their safety falls to me, as I am the eldest of them, with Mithrandir being departed. I will not let them fall to ruin and I will not let their hurts be drug further through the mud. You can expect that I will guard them at every turn of this journey and take care of them when I am able. They have done as much for my hurts."

"Aragorn healed your wrist," her grandfather disagreed, "hardly the act of nine."

Arathell sighed and looked away. Her grandfather would forever have an advantage when debates such as these would ensue. There was nothing that she could hide from her kin, and if there was, her grandmother would be there to weasel it from her thoughts. She often supposed that was how they had found one another, balancing each other so perfectly. Celeborn's gift of Long Sight was legend in Elvendom. It was his ability to see not just the customary leagues that all Elves could, but his sight was ranked only slightly behind that of the Great Eye. He could see through rock and stone if his target was close enough to him, and she knew that he must have even seen Gandalf take his fall in Moria. "I will not let them fall. I will stand with them until the very end."

Galadriel laughed quietly and walked forward to touch Arathell's cheek. "You sound more like a Lady of Rivendell with every passing year I see you, child. It has been too many moons since we have last spoken and your wisdom has grown since then."

Arathell bowed her chin slightly at the compliment and looked away. "My home has not been Rivendell in many a year, Grandmother," she admitted. "It is the place of my birth and it is where I have aged, but it is not where I have grown and where I have truly lived. I do not know of my true home." She released a shaky sigh and allowed Galadriel to tug her away from her grandfather and to the bathing pools. She disrobed slowly and carefully, minding in whose presence she was in. Galadriel did not stare at her but remained close.

"Your home will find you, Arathell," Galadriel said kindly after a time. Her voice rang with confidence and Arathell could not help but roll her eyes. "Gandalf knew it, as do I. And Celeborn can already see it."

"In Gondor, you presume then?" she asked, taking a cloth to wipe away at the dirt that caked on her skin. She stood under the waterfall, letting the pressure dig under her skin, cleaning her from the inside out. She could not remember feeling so in need of a bath before, but this she treasured the most out of their journey thus far. She poured some of the scented lavender oil into the pool and let the smell assault her senses, removing the smells of blood from her nose.

"We have spoken of it, yes," Galadriel agreed.

"Then you know of Boromir?" Arathell asked, massaging more of the oil into her hair, pulling the knots as free as she could. When she rinsed her body free of the oils, she climbed from the pool, taking another larger cloth to dry her wetted skin. Her grandmother found her a white dress and handed it to her.

"The son of the Steward, Denethor, yes we know of him," she replied, sounding dismayed. "His heart is weak, we have come to understand." Arathell did up the laces in the back of the dress and then took the brush Galadriel offered. The oils had done their work however, and she felt more tired than she had in a long while. Galadriel took notice of this quickly and snatched away the brush, doing the chore herself. It felt almost foreign to have hands other than hers weaving through her hair, but she did not dare push Galadriel from her. It was almost a peaceful feeling – one that she had not experienced for many a year. "Your hair does not curl like your sister's or your mother's," she commented lightly.

"Or yours," Arathell replied in a tight voice.

"What would happen if we should try to make it curl?" she asked, sounding almost playful. Arathell began to shake her head, but already she could feel the lady twirling the brush in different ways, an unsettling wave overcoming the straightness that was her hair. "Do you love this Lord of Gondor?" Galadriel asked during the chore.

Arathell closed her eyes. "I do not believe so," she admitted. "I care deeply for him and I would allow him to court me should we ever discover the chance. But alas, quests are not places to fall in love on. Nevertheless, I am not likely to tell him of my inability. I will let him vie for my heart, and maybe he shall be lucky enough to earn it. Although having the love of someone like me is not what I would deem particularly noteworthy. What good can my love do a Man? I am Elf-kind and will not die because of Time."

"Lúthien gave her love to Beren, the mortal," Galadriel reminded her.

"Yes, of course," she dismissed. "I do have the ability to choose my fate, but the idea frightens me. What if I should make the wrong decision and regret it for the rest of my life?"

Galadriel pondered this and walked to a small pedestal where a circlet lay. Arathell had never cared greatly for the jewelry, but she was accustomed to wearing them in the presence of her grandparents. They appreciated nobility, or at least her grandmother did. She bowed her head and felt the weight of the silver encase her skull. It was a beautiful circlet with strands of silver dangling around her head in various places and tangling into her now wavy hair. "Why not choose a mortal life?" her kin finally asked once she was satisfied with Arathell's appearance. They began walking back to the rest of the Company.

"What do you mean?" she asked nervously, fighting the urge to twirl her fingers around some of the silver threads in her hair.

"If you choose a mortal life and regret the decision then you will not have to live with the decision for long," Galadriel surmised. "If, however, you elect to remain Elf, then you will watch your current world wither away into nothingness and you will be left alone with the wrong choice you made in your youth. If you happen to fall for the future Steward, or if you were to fall for someone else entirely, you would have them for a long while either way. And it is clear that the Valar love you – it is possible that they would let you go with him once he meets his fate."

"This is assuming that this someone else entirely is of the race of Man," Arathell reminded.

Galadriel smiled and stopped at the edge of their Company, and she could already hear the Hobbits gasp in surprise at how she must have looked. "If it is as you claim and neither Rivendell nor Lothlórien are your homes, then what chance is there that your One is Elven? There is always Mirkwood, but I know of your hatred for that place." Arathell nodded and sighed. "This choice is before you, and you may avoid it for however long you wish. I would only remind you that Time grows shorter for the characters around you even now. Your time to make such a decision is running out. If you want to be with them more than you want to be with your own people, then I will not command you otherwise. But they will die in your tarrying."

Her grandmother left her then and she sighed, turning to look at the others who were still staring. She did not notice Aragorn or Boromir in their Company, but the others seemed lost in their gazes. "Miss Thellie…" Pippin sighed. "You look positively… radiant."

Arathell fought the blush at the compliment and smiled. "I don't think that I have ever seen someone so beautiful," Merry added, suddenly looking quite shy to be talking to her at all. "You are even prettier than the Elven Lady with the yellow hair."

"It does certainly remind one of the beauty your family comes from," Legolas said, staring obviously at her without shame. "All of the children of Lady Galadriel are the fairest, as the stories are told. Her beauty could never be sponged away by interbreeding with other lineages…not to mention Lady Lúthien, asides."

Arathell scoffed and brushed a stray hair from her eye. "That was very eloquently put, Prince," she remarked sarcastically and then smiled at Merry. "I daresay I have never heard such a great compliment before in my life," she thanked.

"And I daresay that we ought to call her Lady Arathell whilst she look this way," Sam retorted. "Thellie is not a name that befits the Elf we are seeing."

"Stop it, all of you," Arathell laughed, touching Sam's cheek sweetly. "It is not in me to hear compliments so often! My grandmother simply does not want her kin to go wanting. And she has had this circlet for me whenever I visit these woods."

"Lady Galadriel is your grandmother?" Gimli asked, confounded with awe.

"Yes, Master Dwarf. She gave birth to my mother Celebrían, who then beget my sister Arwen and then lastly, myself."

"And I wonder who you will beget," Merry teased. "It would be a shame to not see this transcend through the Ages, after all."

"It would indeed," Frodo chirped, still looking rather downtrodden however from the last few days.

"It is unnecessary to think of these things," Arathell snapped playfully. "Now, where are Aragorn and Boromir?"

"Boromir left moments ago to reside on his own for a time," Legolas answered in a low drawl. "I believe that the Lady spoke words of discomfort to him and they still sting."

"Did she question any of you?" she asked quickly, looking through the faces of her Company. They all shook their heads beside Frodo who avoided her gaze. She sighed and walked to him. "My grandmother is powerful, to be sure, but she knows how I care for you, Frodo," she soothed. "She would not dare try to hurt you, even without me here. You are too important to harm. And her words are easily dismissed if you ignore her long enough." Frodo nodded, but she knew that her words did not meet her mark. She sighed and turned to the others. "I will go find the Men. Take rest. You will not be harmed here."

Arathell walked on then, feeling the earth beneath her bare feet, having not bothered to put her boots back on after her bath. She found the Men, speaking quietly to one another beside a tree, and she waited for a moment, hearing Boromir's inspired words of his faith in Gondor. Aragorn had not replied quite as heartily, and she frowned, wondering when the Ranger would learn that there was nothing for him but the throne. Men like him were not meant to cower in darkness, running from what they were. They were strong and were meant to accept everything available to them. Having Aragorn as the King of Men would reunite all of the kingdoms and it would just as surely give the world of Men a strength that had yet to be tapped into.

Aragorn walked away after their discussion, leaving Boromir on his own. She carefully walked to him. His back was to her so she gently rested her hand on his shoulder. She was still unsure of where they stood with one another and did not want to frighten him. Perhaps, she thought with a little excitement, he would see how she looked and he would be more willing to listen to her words. "You ought to sleep," she murmured.

"As I told Aragorn, I will not find sleep here. Your kin, however she is related to you, gave words to my thoughts that I did not wish to have."

She squeezed her eyes shut in his pain and walked around to stand in front of him. Instantly, she could see his eyes change as he took her in. His mouth hung open and he looked her up and down with shock written on his sharp face. She gave him a small smile and watched as he stood up and held her at arm's length to see her better. "Melda…" he purred, and she smiled wider, not being able to remember the last time he had given the title to her. "My eyes are not large enough to see you properly," he stated and she chuckled nervously. "You look… like a Queen," he sighed.

"What were your thoughts?" she asked him, wringing her hands in front of her.

"They are long forgotten now, Arathell," he retorted, walking in a circle around her. "Your hair looks like a river," he commented. "I have never seen it so. I can believe now that Lúthien never truly departed this world. She resides in you, Arathell. I can see her."

Arathell scrunched her nose at his words and looked to the ground. He did not mean to offend, and she knew this with certainty, but his words had not seemed perfectly kind in her mind. "Yes, I imagine that it is never hard to distinguish between her and me," she muttered.

"Melda, your beauty is simply harsher and more carved by the elements you have braved. You have the beauty of the world on your face. Lúthien, I can see would have had the beauty of innocence on hers," he explained, still walking in circles around her. She decided that she liked that answer a little bit better. His arms suddenly slithered around her waist, resting his hands on her womb. "You're beautiful."

She smiled and turned in his arms. "You said something like that when we first met; do you remember?"

"However could I forget?" he asked her with a playful smile. He leaned down to capture her lips with his, but she pulled away at the last second, cursing herself heavily for being so foolish. It was clear that their quarrels were finished, and she should not be pushing him any further, but she simply had to know. "Arathell?" he murmured, appearing confused.

"Are you still angry with me?" she asked him bluntly.

He sighed and pecked her lips once and then twice more. He continued kissing her gently until she pulled away from him completely and stared, awaiting her answer. "Can you promise me that Aragorn's touch was not meant to entice you?" he asked her. She was taken aback by the question, though in retrospect, she supposed that she shouldn't have been. In her surprise, however, he continued, taking her silence as an answer. "Can you promise that out of all of the Fellowship, you wish for me more than you wish for him? Can you promise that if it was between saving me and saving Aragorn, you would save me?"

Arathell arched her eyebrows and cast a look at the leaves under her feet. "Aragorn's touch was meant to ascertain the extent of my injuries – not to entice me as you believe," she replied, looking up to meet the cool steel of his eyes. "As far as whom I wish for more, I believe that there is no one I wish was present more than the Man I met in Rivendell. I have not seen him for a month and I would be with him. The eyes I see before me now and the touch I just felt on my skin was not what I remember meeting."

Boromir seemed bothered by her answer and huffed. "And who would you save?"

Arathell bit her lip, staring at him and wondering truly who she would save. She had already admitted to herself that while she craved the old Boromir's presence most, she knew in her heart that it was Aragorn who she most desperately needed as her ally. Coupling her selfishness with the fact that Aragorn was the true King of Gondor, the answer seemed simple, but there was no simple way to deliver such an answer to Boromir without destroying him and perhaps pushing him closer and closer to the destruction she feared so greatly. "He is the rightful King," she told him. "A soldier knows the risks when he enters war. He knows that there is always the possibility that he will not return home. Middle Earth needs its King."

"Gondor has survived well enough with simply a Steward for more than one thousand years," he reminded her, but she could see the pain he felt clearly.

She looked away. "Middle Earth needs its King," she repeated, keeping the more rebellious _I need my friend_ to herself. Her voice shook in her throat, "Sacrifices must be made in war. If it were between me and Aragorn, I would hope that you would save him. The world needs him."

"And I need you. I would hope that you would need me," he rebutted.

"War is not a time to be selfish. You protect all you can, but in the end, decisions of the future must be made," she argued, hiding her hypocrisy under the pretense of saving the kingdoms as opposed to herself.

"So you would not save him because you care for him?" he asked her, taking a step towards her with a fire in his eye that made her slightly fearful.

"I do not care for him in the way you suppose," she pointed out. "He is my friend, yes, but that is not the reason that I would save him. He loves my sister, Arwen. As much as it would please me to see my sister see the world for its truth, I cannot do that to the world. Elves, Dwarves, and especially Men need him now more than ever. They do not need me."

"And they do not need me then?" he retorted, now sounding rather angry.

She winced and looked away. "You asked me a question, and I gave you my answer. You cannot be mad at my answer, as it is truthful and you were the one to deliver the question. If you were not prepared to hear any possible answer then you should not have asked it at all. I came here presently to trade words with you about our past arguments, and here we are, arguing once more. I care for you, Boromir," she told him. "I truly do, but you make it difficult for me to do anything greater when you push me this way. I am trying to be honest with you and I am trying to fight for the good that is still inside of you. You have pushed all of the others away from you in your anger and hatred of the Council's decision and it grows greater with each passing day. You are not yourself. I began falling for the Man I met in Rivendell – not the Man I stand in front of now."

Arathell could not stop herself from walking away from him, keeping her head held high. Her heart was breaking in her chest and she walked deeper into the woods, seeing the light of her grandmother's creation guide her feet to places she had not been to in many a year.

She came up to one of the many pools and stopped there, staring down into the water. It reflected only the beautified image of herself and she nearly frowned at it. Why was it that when she looked this way, Boromir could think of nothing other than his own desires? Why could she not be simply Arathell, even as decorated as she was? And why could he not feel as affectionate toward her when she walked with her regular attire?

"This is quite a rare sight," she heard and swiveled around to see Aragorn. His eyes roamed over her figure and she snarled, turning back to the water.

"I do not like myself this way, Aragorn," she sighed. He came to stand beside her. He grasped her shoulders tenderly and turned her towards him. "I feel like the only time that I can seem remotely desirable to Boromir is when I am dressed this way. This is not me."

He made a silent show of carefully reaching for her headdress, asking for permission with his eyes to touch her. The question burned in her mind and she had to take a moment to think of her answer. His hands were aimed toward her circlet, but no doubt, his fingers would glide through her hair. Did she allow him that permission? Could she let this Ranger touch her hair?

Arathell found herself nodding before she could stop herself and she soon felt the weight of the silver fall from her head. He had done remarkably well to not touch a strand, but when he set the circlet aside, he met her gaze again, never looking to the rest of her sparkling attire. He sighed and reached forward and boldly grasped a tress of her hair, twirling the curl around his fingers in what could almost be interpreted as boredom. But she saw the gleam in his eye – that gratitude that he was allowed this. She took hold of the hand however and stopped him. "Find me a comb," she said and he was gone within the instant.

Arathell stared back at herself in the pool and reached to touch the hemming on her sleeve, as if to cocoon herself inside of the fabric and hide from the world for forever. Aragorn appeared beside her again with a silver comb in his hand and she smiled at the sight of it.

She walked to a nearby stone and sat herself down upon it and looked at her friend carefully. "Comb it for me?" she whispered, almost afraid of the answer. He moved silently behind her and she held her breath and closed her eyes. She had never had anyone other than her own family touch her hair before, and the thought of a Man doing so frightened her terribly, but she trusted Aragorn. He was not going to hurt her.

The comb worked its way steadily through her hair, his fingers catching and entwining themselves every now and again. A shiver escaped her as his fingers traced the shape of her head, but he did not speak of it. Her hair reached to her lower back and the combing took some time, but with each tug and pull, she felt freer and more like herself. "I am not a true Lady, am I?" she asked him quietly.

He paused in his ministrations and walked around to face her. Her hair fell straighter around her again, and she noticed that he was finished. From practically nowhere, he produced another circlet, this one less gaudy and simpler. Bronze ivy leaves mingled with golden branches, and no other baubles were added on. He rested the circlet upon her head and he gave her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. "You have always been more than a Lady, Arathell," he told her just as quietly. "You have been a friend and a warrior and a mother. You are looked at differently because of this. You have always appreciated being… you. And it is wrong to make you into a person you are not. But I think… I know that if you ever were to decide to become the kind of woman who leads and who stands for all the others as a Lady of a land, there would be no one better. Ruling is in your blood, and you do it with a grace that only you can manage."

She smiled softly at that and looked away. "And what of you?" she asked. "Ruling is in your blood – our blood, as you neglected to mention. If you wished to rule, there would be no one better."

He laughed quietly at that and sat down beside her. "You look more like yourself now." She arched an eyebrow at him and he gestured to the pool for her to investigate. She hesitantly stepped to the pool and looked down at her reflection, seeing her high cheek bones slash against the straightness of her plain brown hair. With the small amount of curl that was left, her hair shimmered like a whisper when she moved. The crown upon her head molded to her scalp in a loving embrace, but never tugged cruelly like the other had. She did feel much more like herself and smiled at her reflection before turning to show the smile to Aragorn.

"Do I look just as beautiful?" she teased with a laugh.

"More so," he answered with sincerity that made her stop, "for you look happy. If the Valar ever came to Middle Earth, I would not be able to tell the difference. You look like you and there is no one fairer, even with the dress and crown. You look like the ruler you were born to be."

Her smile fell from her face and she sighed. Boromir had called her a Queen and Aragorn had called her the Valar. "Boromir is angry with me again. He saw the way I looked and he forgot about our arguments. He wanted to move past them without ever coming to a solution, just because of how I looked. And then he asked me these questions…" she trailed off, staring down at her hands as they linked themselves together.

Aragorn was before her in a moment, and his hand crept into her own and squeezed them both. "What were the questions?"

"If I had to choose to save you or him – he wanted to know who I would save," she replied.

"You chose me?" he asked her, sounding surprised.

"Of course I chose you!" she retorted. "You are the future King of Gondor but most importantly, you are my friend. You are a friend that I could never replace. I have already told you, Aragorn. I need you."

"You need me more than you need Boromir?" he asked her, his fingers playing with her hair in a way that made her smile. Their hands were still clasped, but he had raised them just for the ability to touch her hair.

"I have begun to let him go," she mentioned. "At least I believe I have. He grows further and further from me every day and there will come a day, soon unfortunately, that I cannot reach him."

"I told you to prove me wrong," he reminded her.

"I would if I could," she said resolutely. "You know how much I enjoy doing so."

He gave her another smile and rested his forehead on hers. "I would save you," he murmured offhandedly. She looked into the calm grey clouds of his eyes and saw the truth there.

She grinned. "I know you would."

He shook his head barely and stared deeply into her eyes. Even without her gift, she felt him asking for her to look into the depths of his soul. "No, you do not understand," he whispered. "I would always save you."

They stayed touching for a long while and soon, her eyes fell closed and she released a happy sigh. His fingers continued playing with her hair and the touch was making her heart race. It was such a simple touch, but she could feel the complexity of it. He seemed to greatly love wrapping strands around his fingers, sheathing them like he would a sword in her hair. "We should be going back," he murmured and her eyes snapped open.

Arathell shook her head against his. "Just for a little while longer," she pleaded. "I –"

"You do not need this, so do not begin to think that I will believe you if you should say it," he retorted and she laughed. "The others will be wondering where we have gone, and we both need rest. These last days have been more tiring than most."

She nodded finally and pulling her head from his, but he did nothing to stop playing with her hair. Darker thoughts crept into her mind like a poison. "Why did he not run to us? He could have escaped had he have run."

Aragorn furrowed his brow as he thought for answer. "Perhaps he knew that it was his duty to kill the beast. A Balrog could be used to terrible effect should Sauron take one. Falling from the Bridge may not have been enough to kill it."

"He never did want to go through those mines," she mentioned weakly. "I suppose he knew that that would be his fate if we decided to go through them. If we had stayed on Caradhras –"

"Then we would all have died by now from the cold," he argued and she sighed. "He accomplished what needed to be accomplished. As Galadriel said, Gandalf never did things that did not have a purpose to him and his causes. If he agreed to go through Moria, then he had his reasons which may be the ones we have mentioned, or it may be for something else entirely. We will never know. We should not dwell on it."

One of her hands left his and rested against his cheek. His beard was soft from his recent bathing, no doubt and she stroked it gently. "He was like a father to you. Somehow, I doubt that you will not dwell on it. I know that I will not be able to help the lonesome thoughts that enter my mind when I think of him."

"Dwelling on the past does not help protect our future," he disagreed and she smiled sadly, her fingers traveling carefully until she met the raven black of his hair. Her fingers threaded through it with precision and with tenderness, as she had always done for Kara when the girl was younger. The hair slipped like silk through her fingers, encouraging her to keep touching. He sighed and leaned into it,

"However learning from our past can secure our future," she told him.

"What can we learn from this?"

Again she smiled at him. "We learn who is most important to save," she answered calmly and he sighed and pressed his forehead against hers once more.

"Just for a little longer," he warned.

"Only because you like that I am touching your hair," she teased quietly.

"I won't deny it if you don't deny that you like my fingers in yours just as much," he pointed out.

"Then I suppose I will not deny it."

* * *

 **There it is! Oh, my goodness, we are going places now, aren't we? Let me know what you guys are thinking! I am expecting a big response for this one! Let me hear you!**

 **And check out the music! This one took me a while to find just the right song. :)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	45. Chapter 45

**Wow! The response I got from you guys this last chapter was absolutely incredible! Thank you so much! Everyone seems to either be on Team Aras or are willing to give it a try. That's awesome! I wish I could keep up my oh-so-devious ambiguity, but I don't think I'd be fooling many people. Oh well. I shall endeavor to keep this baby interesting though! Stick with me! I personally think it gets better from here on out, but that is just me.**

 **A lot of you have some concerns for this relationship though. I won't say with what, cause I think that will give it away. I will say that I think you guys just MIGHT be missing something. Teehee. And it's been hinted at all throughout the story in little baby subliminal messages… no one seems to have gotten it just yet. :D More intrigue! Yay!**

 **And now… the continuation…**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Jon McLaughlin - So Close

"And now you're beside me,  
And look how far we've come.  
So far we are. So close..."

* * *

 **January 30, 3019 – Caras Galadhon**

She and Aragorn did not speak of that night again, and Arathell was more or less grateful for that too. Or rather, she was not particularly bothered by it, but she supposed that it would have been slightly nice to stop acting differently around one another.

Every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was his fingers playing with her hair, and it made sleeping rather difficult. She had no idea what was happening to her to make her think of her friend in such a way. They had never had such encounters before and it was all very confusing that they were happening now. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were sequestered in their Company and there were very few other people to talk to. She could speak happily with the Hobbits for hours on end, but sometimes, she wished that she could stop putting a smile on her face and simply relax in the company of herself.

Boromir and she had not spoken much since their first night in Caras Galadhon. She did not know even how to start a conversation with him, let alone greet him with a proper good morning. He didn't seem to mind her silence and in fact encouraged it, if she was interpreting things correctly.

Legolas and Gimli were exploring the city together, and it seemed that they had finally found friendship in one another at last. That left her alone with Aragorn quite often, as the Hobbits went off on their own adventures regularly while Boromir walked along on his own.

So she found herself staring into the pool she had stared into almost a fortnight ago. The circlet Aragorn had given her still rested on her head and her grandmother had not curled her hair since then. She was thankful for this. She slowly reached to grab a piece of hair and began wrapping it around her fingers, mimicking how Aragorn had handled her hair.

Arathell still had no idea what to do with Aragorn. Part of her, even now, wished that she could ask him to comb her hair again, just for an excuse to have him touching it. And this was a confusing notion – she did not know why she wanted him to play with her hair; all she knew was that she wanted it. She couldn't decide what the other part of her wanted.

"Is your wrist healed properly?" a voice asked, and she turned to it, seeing Aragorn standing there with his hand on the pommel of his sword.

She twisted the once injured appendage around several times to show its lack of injury. "It has been just fine for over a week now – almost two," she told him. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, but there was a twinkle in his eye that brandished playfulness and she was instantly intrigued, all thoughts of her previous confusion swept away, at least for the time being. "I remember you saying that you missed sparring. There is not much to do here, other than rest and take counsel, which we have done plenty of – at least for now. If you wished to don your battling attire, I will wait."

Arathell beamed and nodded, moving back to her packs within her room to withdraw the freshly laundered set of clothes. She changed into them quickly and went back to the pool to find Aragorn, seeing him with his whetstone, sharpening his sword lazily. Ristor felt perfect in her hand when she withdrew it from her scabbard and she grinned darkly at the Man. "I am ready to beat you again, mellon nin," she teased.

He stood and approached her with his sword lowered in a stoic, confident stance. He looked regal in his dominance and she fought the shiver she suddenly felt threaten to run down her spine. "You do not want an audience?" he questioned playfully.

She gave him half of a smirk. "I do not feel the need to humiliate you publicly this afternoon," she continued, waiting for him to initiate the fight.

They circled one another for over a minute, analyzing everything about their opponent, though they knew the other like the backs of their hands. Their swords were pointed to the ground, the weight becoming heavier and heavier in her hand as her anticipation grew. He was always the attacker, always the one to begin the battle. It was a trait that could never be truly cleansed from his system. He disliked fighting from a defensive standpoint, while she thrived on it, waiting for her opponent to grow tired and give them false hope that they could best her. Watching the surprise leave their dimming eyes had always been one of her little joys of battle.

When he made no move to attack, she grew rather impatient and finally struck out at him, jumping into his space, to slash at his free arm, which he blocked with ease, the clang of their iron sounding like music in her ears. The metal scraped as they withdrew their swords from one another, and he still made no move to attack her, so she struck at him once more, over and over again.

He lowered himself to the ground, copying her classic strategy and she growled. "What are you doing?" she demanded, one of her punches being caught in his fist and thrown upwards. His sword was ready for the plunge, but she quickly jumped to the side and grabbed hold of his arm, twisting it until he dropped to the ground. She moved to stand over him with her sword pointed at his throat. "I believe this is the quickest I have ever bested you, Aragorn," she teased as her blade pointed at his jugular. Before she had a chance to do anything else, his legs swept out, making her lose her balance and fall on her back with a grunt.

Suddenly he was standing over her and she gave him a cheeky smile, swiping at his sword and grabbing his collar, dragging him to the ground with her and rolling herself on top of him. She pressed her arm to his throat, knowing her hand was not large enough to squeeze properly. While he fought against her strength for a moment, she withdrew her dagger hidden in her boot and held it above him.

Again, with startling speed, a hand grabbed hold of her wrist and twisted it around her back and making her yelp at the uncanny position. She threw her head back in pain and was suddenly under all of his weight, with her dagger in his hand, ready to strike. "Come again, Shadow?" he murmured.

She wriggled under his weight, but he would not budge from his position and she gave a breathless laugh at the game, seeing him give her a smile as well. "Have we finally moved beyond our awkwardness?" she asked him shrewdly, still struggling.

He looked guilty for a moment before dropping her dagger to the ground. "I was unaware I was making you feel uncomfortable," he told her in Sindarin. "That was never my intent."

She stopped squirming under him and stared into his grey eyes, wondering how they were capable of being so different from all of the grey eyes she had seen before. He was Man, and maybe that meant that he was more prone to show his emotions unlike those of her ilk. "I thought you were afraid of where our friendship had gone," she admitted softly in Sindarin. "I thought you… maybe that you regretted it. That you never wanted our friendship to be that… intimate."

"I do not regret it, Arathell," he soothed, proving his point by taking hold of a tendril of her hair, playing with it in the way she had been for days. It felt better with his fingers twirling it. "It was highly inappropriate of me to ask for your permission for such a thing. If Boromir has yet to touch you in this way, it was wrong of me to think that I was allowed to do so. Nevertheless, I do not think that I truly regret it. It was wrong to do it, but I am not sorry. We have been friends for many years, Arathell," he said. "I am honored that you think that we can be this way with one another."

"It is a touch that is typically reserved for family and lovers," she mentioned. "Of which you are neither," she continued. "And do not pretend to be ignorant of that – you know it as well as I do, being raised with our customs. What we did, what you are doing now… people talk. They would think us betrothed."

"Should I stop?" he asked in Common Speech, the harsh, brusqueness of his tone making her shiver under him. "Are you cold?"

"No and… yes, I suppose I am," she stated, the second answer being a complete lie. She wasn't cold, but she still could not entirely explain the shiver. A part of her was beginning to have her suspicions of just how deeply she valued Aragorn's friendship, and it frightened her. "On second thought, you should probably stop," she claimed and began squirming again. "And you should probably get off of me as well. I can't very well breathe."

He pulled away instantly but remained sitting. He gave her dagger back to her and she sheathed it without a word. With a curious thought in her head, she found herself reaching for his hand, holding it lightly, but he did not bother to pull it away. "You wish to stop the gossip of Lothlórien by holding my hand thusly?" he remarked, yet he still he did not retrieve it.

She gave him the best innocent smile she could muster. "I am afraid I do not have an explanation." That was also not entirely true, but she hoped that he would not question it. The hand she held was rough and calloused, but she had expected that. From the numerous occasions now that she had held his hand, she knew this much about him. His fingers were long and encompassed all of the back of her palm, touching the tips together. It was warm – another thing she had come to expect from such a contact. But it was the type of warmth that touched her that made her heart flutter in her chest. She could feel his warmth crawling up her arm and spread across the plains, valleys, and hills of her body. It was a happy warmth that made her muscles sit at ease and relax, but tie in a knot at the same time. When his thumb slowly began making circles on the back of her hand, she fought the urge to close her eyes and absorb the contact even more. He was comforting her with this simple touch and making everything inside of her feel like she could be whole again. Furthermore, his grip, his thumb, his warmth… it all made her think that one day, she could perhaps have a home.

Her eyes widened at the realization and her heart beat faster in her chest when everything connected in her mind. She released him and stood up, sheathing her sword which had been discarded sometime during their sparring session. Careful to keep her eyes off of him, she could still feel him gazing at her. She wondered briefly if he could read her mind and know what she was thinking. She would be rightfully ridiculed if he could.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

She violently shook her head before she could stop herself and then fluttered her eyes closed to come back from her subconscious action. "Yes, I am quite alright. I only realized that Lady Galadriel wished to trade words with me this evening. I have only just remembered. She does not greatly appreciate being kept waiting. I should be off to speak with her now. I will see you at supper," she hurried before leaving his presence.

She walked to her grandmother's chambers and banged on the door without any decorum before throwing the door open without permission, striding inside to find her grandmother perched on one of the seats on her balcony. "I must speak with you," she demanded as soon as she walked through the doors. Her grandmother smiled at the harsh request and nodded, never taking her eyes away from whatever it was she was watching. "I have done something," Arathell began, pacing around the room. "Something that is truly horrible," she continued.

"Well then you had best relieve yourself of this burden, my dear," Galadriel cooed.

Arathell groaned and threw herself on the bed, burying her face in her hands in shame. "I do not even know how to say it," she admitted. Galadriel did not say anything and waited. "I have realized that it may be quite possible… in fact, I am inclined to believe it to be true… that the way I see Aragorn has… changed."

"How did you see him before?" she asked, standing from her seat and walking back into the room.

"I saw him as a friend – as my dearest, greatest friend," she answered, rolling over onto her back to stare at the arched ceiling above her.

"And how do you see him presently?"

Arathell scrunched her nose and clapped her hands over her face again, embarrassed. "I think I may have grown feelings for him, Grandmother – feelings that go beyond simple friendship."

"Oh, I see," Galadriel sighed and she felt the bed sink with the additional weight. "You are in love with him," she surmised.

Arathell's hands flew off of her face and she spun to look at her kin with wide, brown eyes. "I most certainly do not love him!" she rebutted. "It is only that I have feelings for him that would normally precede such an emotion, of which I have told you on countless occasions, is not something that I am capable of."

"Well, there, my child is where you would be incorrect," the woman disagreed with a knowing smile. "You are more than capable of having love for Kara and for her family."

"That kind of love is much different from what you are suggesting," Arathell refuted.

"No, I daresay it is not. But that is another matter for another time. Why are you distressed with this revelation, Arathell? You look like you could drop into your grave this very moment!" Galadriel mocked and Arathell scowled at her, unimpressed and very much annoyed.

She growled and threw a pillow across the room as she stood back up, resuming her fierce pace around the room. "Do you truly not see my quandary? Boromir, the son of the Steward of Gondor has already made action to vie for my heart and in doing so, my hand. And being solitary at the time he asked, I granted him this. I truly believed that he could be my One, and I have only recently come to the conclusion that he is not. I have yet to tell him of this development and now with my new feelings for another, I cannot simply abandon Boromir to his own feelings without him knowing that it is because I am more drawn to Aragorn! He already suspects me greatly of possible infidelity and we are not even married! His temper is that of a lion's and he is meant to go with us on this journey with Frodo, and I would not wish to see him in his fury for however many months are left of this quest! He has disliked the original plan to destroy the Ring since the beginning – since my father's council in Imladris. His resentment has only grown since that time and what would he do if I were to give him yet another thing to be cross about? I do not want this!

"Furthermore, my newfound feelings come at a most inopportune moment, as Aragorn's heart is not there for the taking. He has pledged himself to Arwen, my beautiful sister," she mocked in the perfect, proper voice. "What could he want with me? I am nothing compared to her; I never have been! Since my birth, all I have ever been was the sister to the Evening Star. That is her name – a beautiful perfect name that rivals the beauty of the fabled Lúthien. She is the Noble Maiden - the Evening Star. And who am I?" she cried, her hands coiling into fists. Tears flowed down her face, and she could nothing to stop them even if she wanted to. "I am Arathell Duvainith – the Noble _Sister_ , the Beautifully Dark _Sister!_ I am nothing but the _sister!_ I am the rougher, more rugged, harsher, darker, less beautiful, less loved _sister._ How could he see me?" she demanded, throwing her arms onto Galadriel's shoulders and weeping in her face. "How could anyone see me when she is nearby? The only one who ever has is Boromir, and he is long gone from me now. And I already know that he will not come back. Who else could love me? I am nothing," she wept.

Galadriel embraced her tenderly and she felt the woman's fingers stroke through her hair, combing out the tangles and rubbing her shoulders. "Those words have needed saying for many a century, darling girl," she purred into her ear and Arathell roughly hiccoughed. "How long you must have bit your tongue… I am surprised you have not bitten it away by now." Arathell harshly laughed and clung tighter to her kin. "I should never have left you alone there as I did. Your mother and father could not know – they were oblivious to it. But I saw it. I saw your mind, and I saw the turmoil you went through at the hands of your sister and your people. They have always had an opinion where you are concerned." More tears dripped from her eyes and she squeezed them shut. "I should have brought you here when I first saw your mind. You had so little confidence in yourself, even then, all of those millennia ago. But you faked it so well that no one questioned you. Had I brought you here and taken you under my watch, much would have been different."

"Why did you not?" Arathell croaked.

Galadriel slowly pulled her away and brushed the hair out of her face and dried her tears. "Because, my child, believe me or no, you are unique to this world. You have wisdom and strength in you that have not been seen for over an Age. Had I brought you here, you never would have grown into the woman you are now. You would be weak and coddled – much like Arwen, hopeful and tired in her cage of a palace. I could not let your potential die with your age. Middle Earth needs you to be you."

"What can I do?" she asked helplessly, throwing her arms to the side. "My only gift of seeing into the hearts and minds of others is gone in the presence of the Ring. I am nothing but another blade on this venture – a hired hand that could be replaced by any other. My son-in-law could even fulfill my place."

Galadriel slowly shook her head and took hold of her hand. "Will you look into the Mirror?" she asked her in a cloaked voice that Arathell had memorized since childhood.

She shook her head in refusal. "I do not like the Mirror and you know that. When I last looked into it, I saw the deaths of my daughter and her husband. Those images have plagued my mind ever since and I will not add any of those within my Company to that list of horrors."

" _Your_ Company again," Galadriel said with a smile. "Tell me, child, would Kili, son of Vili, Prince under the Mountain take such ownership as you have done? Would he watch over each of them and treat them all as his own as you have done? I think not," she replied. "No, Arathell, what you will see in the Mirror is not that of Death. I can promise you this."

"I do not wish to look into your Mirror," she refused once more.

"Then how else will you receive your answer?" she retorted. "You have waited all of your life to hear this answer and you turn away now because you dislike the methods needed to learn it?"

Arathell hesitated and pursed her lips, drying the last of her tears on the back of her hand. "I will not see the deaths of any of those in my Company, or anyone else of import, for that matter?"

"No you will not. You will learn who you are, along with what you have just now learned of your need for Elessar," she answered kindly.

There was one word that caught her attention and she narrowed her eyes at her kin. "Do I really need him? I do not wish to need him."

Galadriel gave her a coy smile, arrogant in her hidden secrets. "As Aragorn has already told you by now, child: wishing and needing are two very separate things. I see that he was right in saying that you have forever struggled in keeping the two separate in your mind."

Arathell blinked slowly and stared at the door. "Take me to the Mirror and let us be done with it," she ground out. She ignored that smug grin of her grandmother as she followed the Lady of Light outside into the depths of the forest.

As soon as she saw the erected stand for the Mirror, she growled low in her throat. This Mirror did not like her and had no qualms with showing her every possible worst case scenario that could occur for her and her family. Seeing the death of her true blood family bothered her, but it was nothing compared to how she had felt when she had witnessed Kara's death in the Mirror. Arathell had not slept well for years after that encounter. It was so long ago, she had repressed the memory only until this moment did it decide to rear its head again. "You can promise me I will not see her face?" she demanded once more, feeling that she could never have enough reassurance for what she was about to do.

"I can and I will," Galadriel soothed, pouring the water into the basin.

Arathell slowly walked down the steps and to the Mirror. She did not look down to the clear water, gnashing her teeth so fiercely against themselves that she could hear them protest. She swallowed bravely and nodded at her grandmother before casting her eyes downward.

Instantly the water rippled at her gaze, forming its vision. She quickly identified the scene as the past, seeing her grandmother confronting her about her gift of visual truth. Despite being quiet about it then, Arathell could remember how much pride she had felt in that moment. It was one of the only things that could directly tie her to her lineage – the love of the Valar.

The scene changed drastically then, again to another piece of her past. Arathell coughed as she watched Angmar's blade cut across her chest, and she could feel the sting of the blade even then, watching it. She saw herself fall, slowly becoming pale while the Witch King walked away to terrorize another. Arathell could feel her breath coming to her very quickly now, and she felt almost as if she was reliving her very own death. She coughed again, feeling the phantom blood pour from her wound and she reached up to touch the scar while the Mirror Arathell reached to touch the source of the steady stream of blood. All at once, she watched the blood stop pouring from her body and she watched as her breath came easier and easier as the seconds ticked by. Arathell had never seen what had happened during that battle after she had fallen; only recalling being very weak and tired, exhausted and broken. She stared at the wound closing as the past one held the wound.

Arathell clapped her hand over her mouth when the realization came, but the scene shifted again to the recent battle in Moria. She had run to Aragorn first, pressing her ear against his chest in fear of never hearing a heartbeat. But as soon as she had initiated her touch, he had jolted awake and into her terrified arms.

The scene shifted again and she saw a boy, young and handsome with chestnut hair and round grey eyes. She watched as he ran to a woman who had her back turned but she heard the garbled call of the boy and when the woman turned, she watched in stunned silence as her own face appeared, joyful and warm to embrace the boy, nuzzling his cheek and lifting him up to place him on her hip. The scenery around her was different to anything she had ever seen, and she was unable to recognize anything within the room, try though she might.

Before she was able to see where her future self was, the water rippled again and stared up at her innocently, with only her reflection staring dumbstruck at her. Her head snapped up to stare at Galadriel. "Whose child was that?" she demanded.

"I think that it is obvious that he is yours," Galadriel claimed softly, removing the basin and pouring the water back into the little stream that it came from. "It cannot be another of Kara's, can it?" she guessed. "That boy was definitely not a Dwarf. Nor, in fact, was he an Elf, if I saw correctly. Though he definitely had the charm and beauty of one, to be sure," she carried on. "I wonder if I shall ever meet him."

"Who is the father?" she asked roughly.

"I do not have an answer – he was not in the Mirror; how can I know?" Galadriel taunted. "In any case," she said loudly when Arathell was about to speak again, "there was more to that than the possibility of a son. That is only a glimpse of what could be your future. If the world were to fall to ruin, this will never take place; I assure you. Do you recall what else the Mirror showed you?"

Arathell's arms wrapped themselves around herself and she pursed her lips for a moment, reaching to rest her hand on her scar. "It cannot be true though, can it?" she murmured. "The Valar so rarely give gifts to their children. Why would they give me two?"

"You will clearly need both if you should hope to succeed in your quest," her kin replied steadily.

She shook her head and exhaled loudly. "I can heal," she murmured again. "I can heal myself, and I can heal others. I healed Aragorn."

"Yes, my child, you can," Galadriel agreed with a nod. "However, there are limits to everything. Like your father cannot see the true future and I cannot fight this darkness for forever, you will battle with your gifts as well. You remember breaking your wrist?" Arathell nodded. "The desire to heal, to live, to save – it all can only happen when there is great need. Emotions must be heightened, and this is not something that you can fake. It is instinctual. It will happen when it does. It does not mean that this power is therefore yours to command at every minor cut and scrape. You saved yourself that day against Angmar because you were afraid of Death."

"I am not afraid of Death," she interrupted harshly. "Out of all things, this is the least I fear."

"You were younger then, though, without your Kara and without Aragorn to lend you strength. You did not have Boromir's smile to gaze upon. You were utterly alone, and you were afraid." Arathell swallowed but stared her grandmother down, refusing to acknowledge just how correct she may have been in her statement. "When you awoke Aragorn it was for similar reasons and emotions. You did not want him taken from you. You were afraid that you were going to lose him and that feeling took over your entire soul. That is what must happen, you see. Every other feeling and emotion must be pushed aside for one emotion to take control of your heart. As I said, this is not a gift that can be called upon or controlled. This is something that only your body will know how to do when the time comes. Your mind plays no part."

Arathell reluctantly nodded and seated herself on one of the nearby rocks. "I need him," she said aloud. She glanced up at Galadriel, whose hands were clasped in front of her, waiting patiently for more. "I need Aragorn, don't I? He cannot leave me, not in the way of Death."

"He is Man – this is what they do," her elder reminded.

Arathell violently shook her head. "No, I could not bear it. I do not want him to leave." She scoffed with a laugh and sniffed back the sudden tears she felt pressing at the back of her throat. "It is remarkable, isn't it?" Galadriel remained quiet. "I hurt and ache everywhere in my soul for being alone, for not having anyone. And the one person I believe I could want does not want me, but he treats me so anyways. Looking back, I suppose that some of our recent behaviors have not been exactly proper. He leaves his forehead on mine; he holds my hand… I have even given him permission to handle my hair. He is the first outside of our family, and Kara, of course, who I have given such permission to."

"He touches your hair?" her grandmother interjected with unmasked intrigue.

Arathell nodded with a smile and went to take a strand of her hair. "He takes the ends of it and twirls it around his fingers, and then he leaves them there, like a sword in a sheath, or an arrow in a quiver."

"There is no greater gift you can give him, Arathell," her grandmother warned. When Arathell stared into those penetrating grey eyes, she knew instantly that Galadriel was very much aware of her impurity.

Given, however, that her grandmother had never bothered to question her about Lindir and their time together, Arathell did not see a good enough reason to start such a conversation now. "And he is the first this time. The first that I have actually given explicit permission to anyway… There was one in Rivendell who handled my hair, but I do not know who he was. He never introduced himself or let me see him. But he had comforted me when I was very troubled." Arathell laughed mirthlessly. "Nevertheless, Boromir was supposed to have the first privilege, as he will never have my womanhood. Now, I have given away this to Aragorn."

"Did Lindir never touch your hair?" she asked curiously.

"I never would have allowed it," Arathell replied. "And he never asked. There may have been incidental, but shall we say, there was never very much focus on touching during our sessions. It was only fulfilling a need."

"I remember that you were hurt when he gave you up," Galadriel mentioned. "It was the day I brought Haldir to Imladris." Arathell nodded in agreement, remembered the day well. "Would it do you any pleasure to know that his supposed One was not she at all?" Arathell stared at her blankly. "Would you also like to know that he regrets pushing you away and wishes that Glorfindel hadn't stepped up to court you?"

"He wants me in his bed again?" Arathell supposed. "It makes sense, now that I consider it. He always was very appreciative during our interludes."

"More than his bed, Arathell," her kin snapped. "You are not a whore; you should not speak like one. I do not fault you for the decisions you have made, but I will not hear you speak this way."

Arathell nodded bashfully and looked away. "In any case, I have given no firsts to Boromir. He does not know of this most recent development with myself and Aragorn, and I would keep it that way if I could. But now that I have given this privilege to Aragorn, I am afraid for what will happen to me. I do not regret it, as I have told him. But it makes my heart feel vulnerable. And Arwen has already laid claim to him. I am either to suffer his absence in this world when he perishes, or I am going to suffer his presence in this world, for he will remind me of what I can never have with him."

Galadriel actually laughed at these words. "You never were hopeful. You are much worse now. Can you not be reassured though? You have had a number of men who care for you deeply, despite the tales of your sister. You have gifts unlike any other and you have this future ahead of you if Sauron is destroyed. You are more than Arathell Duvainith and you are even more than Shadow. And one day, the world will see that just as clearly as I do."

Her grandmother led her back to her chambers and kissed her forehead carefully and gave her one last comforting smile and words of wisdom in Sindarin.

Arathell walked through the doors of her room and was surprised to see that she was not alone.

* * *

 **Cliff-hanger! See, I can still keep suspense up! Right? Haha well let me know what you think? Please…! We have some revelations and a heck of a lot of confusion about feelings and whatnot… And so many things happened in this chapter, I can't even think of all of the things I could ask you about! Her second gift anyone? Lindir? Grandmother Galadriel knowing of impurities? SO MANY THINGS. Let me know what you are thinking!**

 **Who is in her room with her? Leave me a guess!**

 **And check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	46. Chapter 46

**Hi there, everyone! I think that it is quite safe to say that you guys are truly THE BEST EVER! Thank you so much for all of your kind words regarding anything and everything. A lot of people have been reaching out, and my goodness, what wonderful friendships we've made! Thank you so so so so much! Seriously, nearly made me cry!**

 **Anyway, I don't know if you guys are aware of this, but we are almost to Review #400! That is insane! I have never gotten this many reviews on a story before, so I am quite baffled. And if this chapter goes over at all like the last couple, I would say to make sure your PM's are on and you are ready to win a one-shot! Remember, those who have already one unfortunately cannot win again. Please give others a shot at this.**

 **OTHER IMPORTANT NOTE! I am coming up again on the oh-so-dreadful Finals Week here at uni. I am entering Closed Week at this moment, actually so. I THINK that I will be able to update again by this time next week, but if I do not, rest assured. I am NOT dead, and I will update next Monday – just one day later. That also means that should anyone win the one-shot-challenge this go around, they will have to wait for their one-shot until after I have taken my finals. Apologies – trust me, I'd much rather be with you lot than studying, etc.**

 **So many important things to say, my goodness! Also, in case you didn't notice, this story has a new banner! Drawn so wonderfully by MissMemory, or as I so very much like to call her Captain Aras (seriously, she was the first shipper). Round of applause! If anyone else wants to get in on the drawing, go for it! I am so incredibly honored that you guys want to be so involved!**

 **ONE OTHER THING WILL BE INCLUDED AT THE BOTTOM AN. FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO REVIEW PLEASE PLEASE READ. IT IS IMPORTANT.**

 **Alright, I'll get on with it – so sorry about the length. PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE OTHER LEFT OFF!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Theory of a Deadman - Not Meant to Be

"It's like one step forward and two steps back  
No matter what I do you're always mad  
And I, I can't change your mind  
I know it's like trying to turn around on a one way street  
I can't give you what you want  
And it's killing me  
And I, I'm starting to see  
Maybe we're not meant to be"

* * *

 _Arathell walked through the doors of her room and was surprised to see that she was not alone._

"Boromir?" she asked.

"We must speak," he began and she sighed.

Arathell strode further into her room to her bed, straightening the already perfectly made up blankets. "What is there to speak of? I believe that you made your opinion of me and of my actions quite clear. To you, I am a common whore who will give her affection to any who will listen to her woes."

Boromir groaned and she finally turned to look at him, folding her arms across her chest. "I was angry when I said those words."

"You were angry on all of those occasions, you mean?" she reiterated. "You have said such words more than once if I remember correctly."

He nodded miserably. "I have. And I know that there are truly no perfect words that I can give you that will fully proclaim how remorseful I truly am. I realize that we have not known one another for very long – not even for a year. But the ache in my heart that I feel when you are upset is very real. My constant desire to make you happy and to have you love me as I love you is very real. I may not know every crack and crevice of your character as Gandalf did or Aragorn does, but I know you well enough." She found herself swallowing thickly. "I know in my heart that you would never try to hurt me by caring for another man. You are a loyal woman, and if you say that you do not love Aragorn and do not think of him the way I ruefully perceived, then I will believe you with my dying breath."

Arathell blinked sudden tears from her eyes and looked away from him, never feeling guilt like this before. She felt like she was lying to him in that moment, and with how gently he had phrased his words, she was reminded of the Man she met those many months ago. He was kind and warm and was fierce and loving. She knew how fortunate she would be to have this Man for the rest of her life. He was good and brave, but he was not strong and constant, and she knew that that was what she needed from her One. "There were other words you offered me that did not concern him," she croaked, still refusing to look at him. "You said that I was hard to love and that my desires of this relationship were too specific and demanding, impossible even."

His hands came upon her shoulders and he spun her around to face him. His thumb caught one of her tears. "What can I say that would ease the pain I have put you through?" he murmured.

"Say the truth," she supplied. "Why say what you did if you did not believe it?"

Boromir sighed. "I was wrong to say the things I did. There are so many facets to your character and each day, I believe I am seeing something new and it is invigorating, but also maddening at the same time. I love seeing each piece of you, but it is hard to maintain my stride with loving each and every facet. I want to know each facet deeply and intimately, but I never seem to have the chance to know them for very long before you change again. I suppose it made me jealous of Aragorn, because he has no doubt, memorized each of your character perfections and flaws.

"You are specific in this relationship, and at the time, I did not like that. I thought, and even still believe, that love is not something you plan or take note of which step you are on. You walk seamlessly along until you realize that you walked on and through your destination without you even knowing it. That is what makes love beautiful. It happens even when we can't see it. Having you plan each step of our relationship stunted that growth and killed whatever beauty we would have had. I was wrong to say it was impossible, and I do not think that your preferences are unreasonable; they are only unexpected."

Arathell frowned at him, unsure of what she needed to say next. "Do you really love me?" she asked in a voice just above a whisper.

He pushed his forehead on hers, staring into her eyes and all she could think about was how Aragorn had done the same thing to her and the sheer content she had felt in that moment. Now, even after Boromir's generous declarations that were accompanied by proud proclamations, she could only feel guilt and unease in her heart. She wanted to feel something with this Man. She wanted to love him more than anything, but her heart would not let her. She was trapped inside of her own heart while her mind banged ruthlessly from the inside of her skull to not let Boromir, son of Denethor, escape, despite his constant hurting.

"I really love you," he told her.

Her eyes fell closed, this being the first true time that he had said it. He had implied it and mentioned it casually in other conversations and hinted heavily at his feelings, but he had never put it all into one simple sentence. "You should not," she muttered, ready to cry again. "I am not a being that can be loved." Despite what Galadriel had shown her, she knew that with her possible disloyalty to Boromir's courtship, she did not deserve him. She didn't deserve Aragorn either however. She mentally scoffed, remembering Lindir's words from long ago: maybe she did deserve Legolas and his kin after how she treated Boromir's love.

"I love you and I do not believe that there is anything that can be done about it," he remarked with a pleasant smile.

She laughed sadly and reached to rest her palm against his cheek. His lips pressed down on hers and she groaned at the contact, feeling sicker and sicker in her belly as he prolonged the touch, taking from her and attempting to give the pleasure back. Her body was pressed against one of the many pillars that stood in her room and she froze as his hands dug at the curves of her waist, pulling her closer into him with each gasp. Suddenly, her legs were wrapped around his hips as he lifted her ever higher, taking her from the pillar and holding her. His lips eagerly reached for hers as he clawed at her back to keep her aloft.

Boromir threw her onto the bed and leaned his body over hers, continuing and deepening the kiss even further. She could hear him moaning into her mouth and felt his knee wedging between her legs and she finally acted, pushing his body off of hers. If she closed her eyes, she could picture Aragorn looming over her with his weight pressed into each of her pores, making her feel blanketed in his protection and strength. Aragorn was not pushing her then, letting the moment take him. Aragorn never took from her as Boromir was asking to now.

"What were you thinking?" she demanded in a high whisper, almost afraid. How long it had been since she had been touched in a sexual way… a part of her wanted it just for the sake of wanting. Her body was excited with the prospect and if she had not stopped him then, she was sure she would have let him do whatever he wished to her, an action that she was sure to regret in the morning. "Just because you say those words to me does not mean that I am suddenly yours to fornicate with! I do have principles." The thought of Lindir and even of Aragorn did not help her very much.

"You still do not love me, do you?" he asked, looking forlorn.

Arathell however did not fall for his pouting look and even had half of a mind to slap him. She refrained but grunted. "Even if I did, that does not excuse your behavior. What do you take me for?"

"I do not wish to argue with you, Arathell," he murmured, still looking downtrodden.

"Then stop angering me!" she retorted, exasperated.

"It is not as if I am trying to make you angry!" he retorted. She sighed, acknowledging that he was speaking the truth. This was not his doing; it was the Ring. Even in the company of Elves and being able to put distance between him and that vile thing, the Ring had still taken hold of his mind. He was lost to it, and it broke her heart, knowing that he was not the person he started as.

Steadily, she walked to him and took his hand, looking down at the weather-worn knuckles. His hands were cold and scratchy with callouses. She turned his palm upwards and stared at his palm, beginning to trace circles into his skin. At this moment, she knew she could never tell Boromir of her new feelings for Aragorn. Perhaps he deserved to know of them, but she knew that he needed to not know _more_. This was the difference between need and want. Arathell understood now. If she were to tell him that she did not love him and that she never would, he would be completely lost. He was still trying to make her happy and to keep their relationship alive. He was weak and battered and his mind was practically dying in front of her. But he was trying. And that broke her heart. She refused to be the one to kill him that way and take the last bit of goodness from him.

Arathell knew very well that Boromir wouldn't believe that the Ring was possessing him, and telling him this would only anger him more and push him further from the Fellowship. He needed each of them to hang onto. "I know that you are not," she murmured. She would allow him to believe what he wanted, as long as he was happy. She would pretend to give him the love he deserved so that he would not fall apart, so that he would not die. She did not want him to die because of a trinket or because of a war. She wanted him to live his life, and maybe if they succeeded, he would be the Man he was when they met. Maybe she would be able to love him the way he deserved. And if she did not, then at least she would not feel guilty about releasing him from their relationship. "I get angry too easily," she told him, knowing that it was true. She could become furious in a moment, but she often had better control over how displayed such a fury.

"I am sorry," he replied, putting his forehead onto hers again. "I do not know why I tried to…"

"I know," she interrupted, succumbing and wrapping her arms around his massive shoulders while he weakly stood there, not even trying to return the embrace. She pulled away and dried a tear that had fallen from his eye. "You would never really try to hurt me that way," she soothed.

"But I did; just now, I did," he argued. His breathing came quicker and he was beginning to look panicked. "What is happening to me?"

She pursed her lips for a moment before deciding to take the chance. "Are you sure that this is not the Ring's doing? It has tried to poison all of our minds."

"And my mind is more susceptible to poisoning than the others' then?" he surmised, sounding angry again.

She furiously shook her head, unable to push the lie through her teeth. She stroked his face carefully. "You are a good Man, Boromir. I have known it since we first met and I refuse to think that you would have ever intentionally hurt me. I know that we have been arguing much with one another, but maybe it is simply a lack of communication on both of our parts. Maybe if we try talking more often, then we will not have such awful problems."

"You are only saying this because you know that I was the one who did not wish to speak to you," he grunted, and she could see in his eyes that his lucidity was gone, leaving her with an exceptionally dangerous Man alone with her in her bedroom no less. "You mean to put the blame on me for the failure of this relationship."

"It is not a failure, Boromir," she disagreed nervously, trying her best to remain inconspicuous while reaching for her sheathed sword. She would not hurt him, but she knew that she needed to be prepared to defend herself should the moment call for it.

He scoffed and marched closer to her until her back was against one of the wooden walls of her room. "You do not even deny that that was what you were implying," he muttered with a dark laugh, reaching to touch her jawline. "You suspect that I am really at fault, isn't that right?"

"Supper will be soon," she tried, not wanting to engage him directly in this fight. She wanted to pacify him enough for him to be better company, but he was having no part in that. "We should be going."

"They can wait," he disagreed. "We need to discuss this. Since that is your solution: talking more."

"I will not talk to you when you are angry. It will only make things worse," she mentioned. "We really need to be going, Boromir."

"So now I am doing what you say, but it is wrong," he concluded with a nod of his head that transferred just how sarcastic he was being. "I can never get it right with you, can I? It is a miracle for you that I even try at all."

Those words silenced her fear for her safety for a moment and she stared at him worriedly. "What does that mean?" she whispered. She could not even deny that she was afraid of whatever his answer would be.

"You were right in Rivendell," he drawled, leaving her and marching around her room as if he were drunk. "Your sister makes you look like a rat in the sewers. She will have suitors wanting to take her at every turn, even with the world ending." She choked on a sob and blinked hard to rid herself of the tears.

"I thought you did not want to hurt me," she mentioned weakly.

He ignored the comment and kept moving cumbersomely around the chamber. "I would if she'd let me. But she is a woman of morals and would never allow herself to be seen with a creature that would tarnish her honor and good reputation. So what do these broken-hearted fools do to ease their pain? They come to you, because you are so desperate for approval and attention that you will lend anyone an ear who calls you beautiful."

"Stop it," she pleaded.

"Why should I? We should be honest with one another," he remarked.

"This is not who you really are," she choked out. "You are a good Man."

He nodded. "I am a Man, yes. I am a Man with wants and needs and you are the one who will not give them to me."

"Can't you hear yourself?!" she screamed, her inner turmoil being pushed to the side as her self-respect rose. "Would a son of Gondor speak this way of a woman? You know nothing of the world and all of its woes. Just because a woman does not slither into bed with you does not make your troubles the greatest in quantity and quality. If you do not love me or do not think I am beautiful, then release me from this prison you call courtship. I will not be treated this way, and I will not listen to any such talk about my sister. If she thought you were worth anything, she would have told you that you were the moon to her star. But she did not say a word, did she? Maybe before you call others pathetic, you need to look hard at who you are and what makes you so special in my world. You are a Man born to an idiot of a father."

He charged at her with his hand raised and she was going to let him hit her, just to release his rage and then there was a knock on her door. Arathell stayed silent, still waiting for the strike. Boromir looked troubled but then lowered his hand angrily, walking to the door and leaving, allowing her visitor to walk inside.

Arathell blinked hard at the tears that blurred her vision before turning to see who it was. When she did, she did not bother to fight them anymore and released a low sob. "Aragorn," she cried, falling to the floor.

He rushed forward and sat down in front of her, pulling her body hard against his. She sobbed louder at the touch, feeling that nothing could possibly go according to plan. His hand fell on her hair, stroking and petting with much care while she held his tunic in a tight grasp. "What did he do to you?" he growled, pulling away and holding her face in his hands. She did not reply and closed her eyes. "Arathell, tell me," he snapped, giving her a shake.

"He is gone," she wept. "For a moment, I thought he had returned and that there was still hope for him. Hope, Aragorn, hope! I hoped that he would survive to have this darkness leave him. But his mind is lost now, completely. He spoke so gently… and then he tried to," she hiccupped and violently shook her head, trying to get rid of the image. "He tried to…" Aragorn's face had been unreadable up until those words. His comforting features hardened and his eyes turned to steel, teeth grinding hard on each other. She could practically feel his pulse racing under her fingers. He stood up so quickly with his hand on his sword and she nearly fell over at his sudden absence. "No, don't!" she cried, grabbing his wrist and tugging him. "Please, don't. I did not allow him to do it."

"But he tried!" he yelled. She flinched at the sound and let go of him. She drew her knees to her chest and stared at the floor, breathing deeply to control herself. Aragorn noticed her discomfort and sat down beside her again, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. "Was that all?"

"No," she whispered. "He was… remorseful, at first. I foolishly mentioned that the Ring perhaps caused him to act in such a way, and he became furious with me. The things he said…" she closed her eyes, unsure of which expression of distaste had hurt her the most. Aragorn waited patiently, gluing her to his side. "He said that I was second to Arwen. It isn't something that I was unaware of, but I did not expect him of all people to say it to me. I feel quite betrayed. He said he wanted her, not me. But she denied him, so he settled with me, a sewer rat."

"You are not a sewer rat," he dismissed. "You are Duvainith for a reason," he mentioned.

She nodded. "Yes, to remind everyone that I am her sister and nothing more than that."

"I seem to remember you being called beautiful as well," he retorted.

"Beautifully dark," she corrected.

"Arathell," he sighed and kissed her temple. "Anyone can see that you are beautiful. There would not be a daughter of Galadriel that would not be fair to look upon. I can promise you that you are indeed beautiful. I must admit that I do not like hearing this from you. We have spoken already of how I believe your view of yourself is slanted and erroneous. You cause yourself too much grief, and it angers me to hear that Boromir has joined in on this unfortunate wagon."

"It is the Ring – nothing more," she told him. "I should not let his words hurt me so much, but I cannot help it. Arwen has long been a source of grief for me, as you already know. Her praises cut me."

Aragorn remained silent for a time and she supposed that he was thinking of all of the times he had praised her sister and had inadvertently hurt her in the process. "What will you do with Boromir?" he finally asked, and she turned in his arms to stare at him, having not expected such words from him.

"There is nothing more that I can do, I am afraid," she admitted weakly. "It pains me to say it, but he will never have my love. I know that the Ring is the cause for him acting this way, but I do not think that I am forgiving enough to forget all of the things he has said. Should we win this war and should he and I both survive, he will understand. He is a good Man… yes, he will understand."

"You do not wish to tell him this now?" Aragorn asked her. "It would be better that way, don't you think? He would not be able to hurt you anymore."

Arathell sadly shook her head. "I will not hurt him more and make him angry with me. He needs support more than I need to be free of our courtship."

He nodded and held her closer, his fingers running to play with her hair and she almost smiled. "And you believe that you are selfish," he muttered.

She scoffed. "More than you could ever possibly know," she uttered under her breath, thinking of how wrong it was to allow him to hold her like this. Arwen would not be happy and despite all of their differences, Arathell knew better than to try to steal the affection from someone. She had had that happen to her far too often and she did not want to be the cause of anyone else's grief – not for something like this. Disloyalty stung in her veins, but even with all of those poisonous thoughts in her head of how wrong her actions were… she could not bring herself to pull away from Aragorn. Her feelings for him were clearly clouding her judgment, or maybe this was how they always were together and she only now realized it. The way she behaved with him was not what anyone would call proper and he had to know that. So why did he indulge her?

"Supper should be ready now," he said gently, still playing with her hair.

Arathell sighed, loathing the idea of disentangling herself from his embrace. She needed to, or someone would likely come to her room to retrieve her and it would not do well to be found like this. Boromir even already knew that Aragorn was who was with her and if they were late, that would only make his anger worse.

With all of these reasons, she found herself strangely stubborn, her head resting on his shoulder while he twirled her hair. It was perhaps one of the most intimate moments she had ever had with a man and they were not even doing anything terribly scandalous. "I find myself not wanting to go to supper," she admitted quietly.

He stiffened but did not push her away. "Are you afraid of him?" he finally asked.

She caught the harsh laugh in her throat, a faint trace of a smile coming onto her face. "Yes, no, maybe…" Arathell answered. "Who can say? His anger frightens me. I think that when he is in one of his fits, there is nothing he would not do. If he had the chance, there is even a possibility that he would kill me, only to wake from his fury to see me dead." She scrunched her nose at the thought of her newfound gift and considered telling Aragorn about it. He deserved to know. "I have spoken with my grandmother," she told him, changing the subject.

"As you said you would," he agreed. "What did she say?"

She swallowed and reached to touch the scar on her chest. Hastily, she pulled herself out of his embrace to turn and pull her shirt down enough for him to see the old injury. His eyes widened at it and looked up to her questionably. "She did not give me this; cease your worrying," she hurried and he nodded. Slowly, she watched his hand reach to touch the scar but she intercepted his hand at the last moment, too afraid of his touch to let him reach his destination. It was enough already that she had given him permission to touch her hair, and she would only hurt more emotionally if she gave him leave to touch this scar. "I received it many years ago," she began with shaky breath. "It was during a battle with Angmar, when that foul kingdom still had control… in the North. My brothers were with me. Glorfindel was with me." She closed her eyes at the memory. "I remember feeling arrogant and unstoppable. There was no foe that I could not cast down. I saw him there – the Witch King, standing amongst the dead, looking prideful and smug at all of the people he had slain…my people. I found myself moving to him next, believing in my most fantastical of dreams that I could somehow beat him back and possibly kill him. I was naïve to his power. The strength he wielded in his sword and confidence that dripped from the edges of his cloaks… there was no one who beat him – not even me." She scoffed.

"Why was Elrond not there?" he demanded. "Surely he would have been able to battle him."

She opened her mouth to answer him, but she soon realized that she did not actually have a reason for her father's absence. She did not doubt that there was a good reason for it, but it still made her curious anyway. "It does not matter now. Glorfindel bested the bastard in the end," she replied vaguely. "I… There has never been a time where I have ever thought that the opponent I was facing would be my last. But hearing the sound of his voice, as cold and grating as stone, and with his long blade, I knew I had no hope from the moment we first clashed. He toyed with me more than anything, seeing the arrogance of my youth and being confident enough to pretend to give me a chance to kill him. I did not battle as well as I do now. He grew bored, I think. I don't even remember the actual strike," she laughed mirthlessly. "One moment, I was standing and the next, I was on the ground with my own blood threatening to drown me. I was going to die. I knew I was. It was deep and the blood was flowing too fast for me to have it bound in time. Not to mention that I was stranded in the middle of a battlefield with no hope to get away and with Orcs still looking for their fun."

"You survived, Arathell," he commented, but she could hear the question in his voice. He knew as well as she did that there was no way that she should have been able to survive against a foe like that.

She nodded and looked away but still traced the scar. "I think that it is common instinct to reach for the wound as if to plug the opening with your own flesh, regardless of the pain you would inflict on yourself. I did this and then, I could no longer feel it bleeding. In fact, I searched for the physical slice and could feel practically nothing. My heart slowed, no longer afraid, and I managed to stand back up and carry on fighting. The scar has never left me."

He stared at her curiously. "You can heal," he surmised, looking impressed out of the bottoms of his eyes, as if he was suddenly appraising her. "You have the gift of healing," he said again. Arathell could only nod. "But all of your other injuries – your wrist – how were you unable to heal that on your own?"

She shrugged. "Supposedly, this is something that I cannot control," she explained. "I can only heal when my emotions are heightened and they completely take over everything within me." She touched the scar again. "Apparently, I cannot heal myself completely of this horrid scar. I suppose it would make sense; it was a Morgul blade, I believe."

He shook his head and pulled her hand from her chest and she stared at the embraced hands with disdain, trying hard to deny how good his touch felt. "You were stronger than him in the end, Arathell. A scar is nothing to be ashamed of. It is not a weakness."

"Of course it isn't," she agreed hurriedly, hiding the smile at his words. "I have never shied away from a scar, but this scar… it means more than overcoming what tried to hurt me. He left me for dead and I came back from it. I did not get my revenge. Now all that is left to contend with is nothing more than a shadow of a Man who has embraced the darkness."

"Do you mean to say that you do not think you could defeat him now?" Aragorn asked.

Arathell pursed her lips for a moment. "They say no living man can kill him," she murmured.

"And you are not of that race or gender," he reminded gently.

She smiled and reached with her free hand to his hair and face. "Mellon nin, your belief in me is something that I do not believe I will ever truly understand."

"Not everything in this world needs to be understood, Arathell," he murmured. "Sometimes it is best left as a mystery that can only motivate and inspire."

She smirked. "Whatever you say, King," she teased, swallowing away the preciousness of the words of comfort he gave her. These small moments, filled with so much meaning were not things she could no longer take part in. She had to at least try to distance herself from the feelings that raged in her heart.

"Arrogant woman," he retorted, looking down at the scar. "It is a miracle that your foolishness didn't kill you that day."

"I just told you that I can heal," she remarked. "And I've told you I do not like that name," she told him with a full smile.

He returned the cheeky grin and released her hand, burying his fingers in her hair instead and making her tremble at the strength behind the touch. She swallowed the moan in her throat as they tangled in her hair. "I think you actually like the name very much," he responded, but she was too focused on not appearing focused on his hands in her hair to come up with a witty retort. "And you only healed because you were given the chance to." She managed to look at him curiously. "I highly doubt that you would be able to piece yourself back together if you were dismembered."

Arathell's eyebrows furrowed and she pulled away a little, looking at him incredulously. "That is not a very flattering mental image," she told him. "Thanks for that. Is that how you imagine me if I were to be thrown into a torture chamber – dismembered in limbs all over a dirty floor?"

"Don't forget the head on a pike," he said playfully and she actually laughed. "Of course you would find that comical. You were always too morbid for your own good." She continued laughing anyway and looped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

When her laughing came to a stop, she hiccupped and sighed, resting her cheek on his shoulder. His hands had already left her hair, holding her just as tightly around her middle, his head leaning on hers. "Boromir mentioned that you and Gandalf know me better than anyone," she said offhandedly. "I think that you probably know me better than Kara actually. She was always perceptive, but I never told her about my problems. It isn't my job as her mother to make her want to take care of me. She is meant to be young and happy and what I would really have to say would not help her achieve that goal." She scoffed. "Of course, I don't feel the need to censor my words around you. Which is strange, I suppose, because you are, technically, younger than she is."

He chuckled. "Sometimes I forget that you are much older than I am," he remarked, pulling away and touching her cheek before pulling away and walking around the room to grab his discarded items off of the floor. She hadn't even realized he had taken them off.

Arathell shrugged and straightened her hair a little. "Nevertheless, I am glad for you, Aragorn. Boromir was right, I think. Somehow, you snuck past all of my walls and now know everything there is to know about me." She smirked thoughtfully. "Healing hands of the King, indeed," she remarked when he came to stand in front of her again. "I do think that you have had good impact on me," she told him happily.

"You are the one with healing hands, Arathell," he disagreed.

"I'm not a reliable source of healing," she rebutted.

"Perhaps not… but you are the most powerful."

Arathell hummed noncommittally. "Dinner," she told him, trusting him to follow her from her chamber to the dining hall.

* * *

 **What are we thinking, my lovelies? Please leave a review! Let's see if we can actually get to that 400, eh? And remember, I will try to update by this time next week, but if I don't, it only means that I will update only about 24 hours later. I promise. :D**

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 **LM**


	47. Chapter 47

**Hi there, everyone! So, I totally think that you guys are all very conniving and are trying your darndest to get that #400 review. Don't worry, my lovelies, there are plenty of opportunities for everyone! So leave your reviews, turn on your PM's, because I think this will be the chapter that we finally get there! Thanks again to all of those who have left reviews! I have built up some INCREDIBLE friendships and I treasure you all very much. And thanks also to those who have favorited and followed this story. You're all amazing!**

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 **PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE OTHER LEFT OFF!**

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* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Brother - NEEDTOBREATHE

"Ramblers in the wilderness we can't find what we need  
We get a little restless from the searching  
Get a little worn down in between  
Like a bull chasing the matador is the man left to his own schemes  
Everybody needs someone beside em' shining like a lighthouse from the sea"

* * *

 _Arathell hummed noncommittally. "Dinner," she told him, trusting him to follow her from her chamber to the dining hall._

She took her seat quietly, trying to avoid the dozen gazes that stared at her every move. She could easily identify Boromir's glare of hatred towards her, but she refused to look at him, instead staring at the small plate of greens in front of her.

Elves were rather finicky with what they chose to eat; it was common knowledge. With the inability to take an animal's life for the meat, they stayed close to the things that grew, as if they did not also have feelings. The Ents of Old proved this, and the trees in Fangorn and even in Tookborough and Buckland in the Shire were famous for the ever-growing trees. Arathell was never so opposed to eating meat, though it could only be in minute doses. In fact, she found it rejuvenating at times, feeling the soul of the animal give her strength from within. At least that was what the Dwarves believed, and she could not deny it with their cooking – everything served rare and still bleeding.

"What took you so long?" Legolas asked her from her side in a quiet whisper. "Boromir does not look happy. Has he said something to you?"

Arathell chewed her food thoughtfully, taking a long drink from her wine glass and feeling its warmth pool in her belly and give her gentle strength. "He has. Please, Legolas, I do not want to talk about it anymore."

"I swear to you, if he has laid one violent hand – wait. Anymore?" She closed her eyes and took another drink. "Aragorn knows of this, doesn't he?"

She pursed her lips. "It would seem that Aragorn knows everything about everyone, particularly me. Or so I am told, at least," she remarked, setting her chalice down to turn and look at him. "Yes, he spoke to me about what transpired with Boromir. I believe it will not take much persuading to convince you that Boromir's mind is no longer amongst the Company. The Ring has poisoned him beyond measure and as a result, he reacts badly in many situations. Given that he originally had close ties – romantic ties – to me, I am an easy scapegoat for when he is upset. Unfortunately for me, not only do I have to endure whatever verbal torture he can pass off to me, I seem to find it incredibly difficult to keep my mouth shut and not provoke him further! I have already told Aragorn all of what was actually said and I am feeling quite relieved that I have told someone, so clearly there is no need for me to speak of it with someone else when it has clearly been handled!" she whisper was sharp, but she kept her face free of any displeasure and took another gentle sip of her wine after. She then took another bite of her food, finding that she was not very hungry at all. So she rested her hands on her lap and looked at the Hobbits, all of them contentedly eating their food, despite there not being any ale to satisfy their heavier alcoholic tendencies.

Arathell opened her mouth to speak to them across the table, but harsh words cut her off, "So now it is Legolas, is it?" his voice whispered as he leaned over his section of the dinner table, the evil gleaming in his steel eyes. "Can't decide between being a Queen of Elves or a Queen of Men?"

"Boromir –" Legolas began darkly and she saw him fingering one of his hidden daggers under the tablecloth.

"You may leave now, my lord, Boromir," another voice interrupted and she turned to see her grandfather gazing coolly at the Man. Boromir looked ready to protest vehemently, but Celeborn stood from his seat at the head of the table, pressing his knuckles into the marble. "I am not often ignored. Linger here any longer and I will send you back to your room in shackles," he threatened and she stared with wide eyes, never even knowing that he had been listening to her and Legolas at all.

Boromir did not seem bothered by the order, and he in fact, disregarded it. His palms pushed on the table as he leaned forward, sneering at her kin. "This is meant to be a refuge from our Enemy. Will you become that Enemy, Lord Celeborn?" he drawled and she held her breath. There were none she could think of who had challenged her grandfather's word who had not regretted it.

"This is your refuge; it is true," Celeborn replied smoothly, but she saw the almost imperceptible nod toward Haldir who had also been seated at the table, to Celeborn's left. "But the Last Homely House is Rivendell, not Lothlórien. Any slanderous words said about my kin at my dinner table will not be tolerated. Haldir, please escort our guest back to his chambers. He can let his mind dwell in solitude there away from the peace of our dinner."

Boromir huffed and struggled against Haldir's hands, but Elves were stronger than Men and he soon gave up, only walking away with a harsh glare being sent at her. She ignored it and pretended to eat, now feeling even less hungry than she was before. She could sense the other members of the Fellowship staring. Arathell looked up at her grandparents calmly, jutting her chin out in a way that only nobility could. "May I be excused?" she asked tenderly, but did not bother to wait for an answer.

She walked aimlessly through the trees, seeing how the lights swirled in mirroring glimmers all around her. It made her feel like she was bathing in a pool of starlight. Each twitch sent a ripple of light through the forest, making each other little light blink in recollection.

Arathell saw the other peoples of the city soon, each going about their way methodically and calmly, like the soft bounce of waves on the sea. She saw a set of children and smiled, walking to them and sitting on a stone to watch them play. They reminded her of her grandchildren, laughing and twirling in their games. Of course, these were Elf children, not born with the slight clumsiness of the Dwarves. Little Arabiff could never dance, always spinning in circles so fast with her arms spread out wide. She could remember the girl staying her head every time she spun, staring at Arathell with a great smile. Whenever she would stop though, she would topple to the ground, reality shattering her gravity. These Elven children did not play this way. They danced with graceful leaps and soft arm movements, as if the wind was guiding their every move.

One of the little boys came up to her, looking curious. A Dwarven child would skid up to her with a toy in their hands, rocking back and forth on the balls of their feet, anxious to speak to her. Their cheeks would brighten like the rubies in the caverns beneath them, but not this boy. This boy cocked his head to the side, huge eyes wide in curiosity. He analyzed her without shame. "You do not come from here," he commented. His voice was not squeaky and youthful, but already deep. The voice sounded wrong coming out of a child. She knew he was most likely already well into his first few decades, but he did not look it from a Man's perspective. Time for the races was something she would never fully grasp.

Arathell softly shook her head and brushed a piece of hair out of her face. "I am of Imladris," she replied.

He nodded, eyes roaming around the outline of her form. "Your hair is dark like theirs."

She tilted her head to the side. "Have you seen many of my city before?"

"It is known," he retorted arrogantly but she chuckled regardless. "I have seen you here already. You tarry with a group of characters from all races. Why? We are pure and we are innocent and free to spend eternity doing whatever it is we choose. Why would you choose to devote yourself to them? They are not special like we are. There are two Men; I have seen them. They both walk with long strides and hands clenched into fists. They do not look kind or merciful, or beautiful. You walk with a Dwarf as well. His beard reminded my mother of flames, flames of a Dragon. She saw one, you see. Long ago, she lived in Mirkwood and she saw the Dragon come to Erebor. So she came here for a better life. Dwarves are what drove her from her home. Why walk with something so foul it cannot even brush its own hair? And then there are four short people – Hobbits. What use are they? What strength do they have that we do not? You only walk with one other Elf, a prince, my mother says. Why are the two of you here with them?" Her brows continued furrowing as the child spoke, feeling more and more defensive of her Company. "I have heard of you. They call you Shadow, even inside of this realm. But in other places, you are a daughter of the stars. Your kin rule everything in sight and have commanded respect for thousands of years, since before this age had even begun. You are important to our people, and you walk with vagabonds?"

"What is your name?" she ground out.

"Saerdor, son of Saelben," he replied airily.

Arathell laughed mirthlessly. "And what is your age?"

"You are older than me; you should know," he retorted.

"You cannot yet be fifty," she surmised.

He smirked. "I am forty-three," he answered.

Arathell raised an eyebrow at him and looked him up and down, now making it her turn to analyze the boy. "You are too young for such venomous words." He did not answer. "Have you always been so bitter, or is it because of your name that you carry this burden?" The boy pursed his lips, and she stood to her full height, looking down at the boy. "Your father, is he truly wise, like his name suggests? Or was he improperly named? I cannot see how a man who is named wise could have raised a son to have such an outlook on life."

"My father is dead, and has been for thirty years," he retorted with a growl. "That is what has made me bitter. He was murdered by Gundabad Orcs, close to that wretched Mountain that those Dwarves set out for."

Arathell jut her chin out and folded her arms. "You do not know the world and all of its malice yet. That Mountain is a focal point in this war, close to the ruined fortress belonging to the Witch King of Angmar, one of the nine servants. Should the Orcs have retaken the Mountain, and the Dragon once within it, there would be no hope for this war. We would all have died decades ago and the world would be a pile of ash. I travel with these companions because we believe in a free world. We believe that as long as there is a light that refuses to go out, darkness can never truly be won. Each of these races has strengths that complement another's weakness and we go to fight Sauron as one unit, as one Fellowship. There is honor in what we attempt. You are too young to make much difference in this world, but you should at least know all of the facts before you condemn others for choices that you do not understand. You are young and arrogant in your ways; I was as well when I was young. But each of them is worth every dapple of light in the sky. I could never regret traveling with them. Against this Enemy, we do not acknowledge our different races, but rather we act as one family, all kin in some way or another, fighting together against this foe."

Saerdor stared at her, clearly not old enough to take her words to be true. He huffed in annoyance and left her side, fuming. She stared after them and sighed, falling back against the trunk of a tree to collect her thoughts. They each had their strengths to complement another's weakness. She was mentally strong to compensate for Boromir. She was physically strong to compensate for the Hobbits. Her lack of hope was taken up by Aragorn, and her dismal, sometimes dreary attitude was made up for by the Dwarf and his snide remarks.

Yes, this Fellowship had taken a piece of her heart. She cared for each of them, some against her better judgment, but it was the truth. Arathell Duvainith would call each of them her family from this day on, and she would protect them just as fiercely as she would her true kin and Kara. She would be the mother to the Hobbits and guide them and support and protect them. She would be the sister to Legolas and Boromir, binding her strength and support to them, appearing as one front, despite all of the differences she had with the Man of Gondor and the Prince of Mirkwood. She would be the niece to Gimli, who quite frankly, was beginning to baby her and give her sweet smiles of encouragement when she was feeling downcast. And she would be the makeshift wife to Aragorn, for the time being. Their decisions for the Company would be made together, with the best interest of all of them as her main goal. This was her duty. She would protect them and care for them each in their own way.

With this plan in her head, she returned to her room, changing swiftly into her nightgown and throwing herself into her bed, the blankets and pillows enveloping her as if she were embraced by eight persons. She thought of Gandalf, and she thought of all of Boromir's derogatory words. Why did family always have to hurt, blood or no?

She cried herself to sleep that night.

* * *

 **February 4, 3019 – Caras Galadhon**

Arathell sat with the Fellowship one evening, denying the urge to go back to her own bed where it was warmer. She wanted to be with her company tonight, and she could tell that after all of the words that had been traded recently, it was very much needed. She had avoided them for too long, and she knew that they were all beginning to worry over her.

Thankfully, Aragorn was not present, taking a walk with Haldir, she suspected. Their friendship hadn't surprised her in the slightest as the two of them were very much of the same temperament. Maybe his absence was what made her so set on remaining with the company for a little longer.

She hated that she had feelings for Aragorn, and every smile, every kind word, and every touch on her hair drove her mad with want. It was not a sexual want, or at least that was not how she interpreted it. Rather, it was just the desire to be that close to him always and to be more than only his friend.

Arathell sighed and reclined on the grass, staring up at the treetops. They were so far away and the lights that her grandmother had thrown into their hefty boughs reminded her of stars. They were beautiful, and she wanted to reach out and take that wondrous light for herself. However, as wonderful as the lights were, they weren't real. The world outside of Lothlórien was what was real and the people looking at the true stars were the ones that needed her protection the most.

They needed to be moving on. And they needed to be moving on soon.

A soft thud landed beside her, followed by an even softer one on her other side. When she looked, Sam and Frodo were both there, looking up at the lights of Caras Galadhon with her.

"It is very fair here," Sam remarked. "Most comfort we've had on this journey, I'd reckon."

"Appreciate it while we are here," Arathell replied. "When we leave, there will be no fairer country that we will see for some time."

"Do you think we'll ever see one?" Frodo's airy voice asked.

Her head fell to the other side and she looked at the forlorn Hobbit. The weight of the Ring had subsided in growing, she assumed, but it was still something he was forced to contend with constantly. The weight may not have gotten heavier in their tarrying, but she was sure that its evil whisperings were only getting louder in his ears.

"I refuse to be the one who says we won't," she answered stoutly. Arathell personally did not have much hope for such a thing, but that did not matter. "Once the Ring is destroyed, I'm sure you'll be able to see the beauty that each country holds."

Frodo sighed and looked away from the treetops. "This place is very beautiful, and I have enjoyed my stay thoroughly. And I do not doubt that world has other wonders that I would likewise enjoy. But I am not my uncle. Bilbo would be enthralled with Lothlórien, and he would have marveled at Moria before Gandalf… before Gandalf fell. He would have found something to laugh about on Caradhras and he would have begged you for tales of Hollin. But I am not Bilbo. All of those places…and all places that may sit in my future…I only wish to be back in the Shire again. I miss the Party Tree with its own clumsy lights and I miss the little river and I miss the market. I miss my armchair." He scoffed. "Bilbo always missed his armchair on his adventure too. I wonder what that means."

She smiled softly. "I think it means that you aren't as distant from Bilbo as you'd first assume. You are both very strong and have dedication that is unequal to any other that I know."

Frodo shifted, uncomfortable. "I told Gandalf in the caves that I wish this hadn't happened to me. I wish that Bilbo could be here to relieve me of the burden."

Now Arathell squirmed. "Everyone carries a weight they do not wish for," she drawled, thinking of Aragorn and Boromir and Arwen. Arathell had known weight and burden for all of her life. "I cannot say how it is in the Shire, but I can safely tell you that no one's lives are as perfect as they seem. And everyone wishes that living was easier. What you carry is another kind of weight, but remember that you bearing this burden… well, it may help relieve others of their burdens someday."

"But why must it be me?"

Sam had fallen silent but she felt him stir next to her. "Because you can do it, Mr. Frodo," he replied simply and she grinned.

"He speaks truthfully, Frodo. What you carry, I could not. Gandalf could not even carry it, and neither could my father. It must be you, because you are the strongest out of all of us. It is something to be proud of."

* * *

 **February 15, 3019 – Caras Galadhon**

Arathell set aside her comb, staring into the mirror. Her fingers absentmindedly twirled a strand, leaving the end with slightly more bounce than before. It was something that she found herself doing often lately.

A knock fell on her door and she was startled out of her blank stare to rise and open the door. It did not greatly surprise her when she saw that it was Aragorn, waiting to escort her to dinner, as he had taken to doing since her incident with Boromir. She appreciated the gesture and she liked being given their walk to speak privately with him, but it was just as excruciating for her as well. He was so gentle and kind with her that she almost wanted to start a fight with him just so that he would stop.

They walked quietly to the dining room for a moment and she held herself tall and proud as she passed her people. "We have decided that we will depart tomorrow," Aragorn mentioned offhandedly.

She cast him a glance. "Who is included in this 'we'? I was under the impression that I was allowed to take part in making decisions."

He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye, but she saw it clearly. "Do you object to leaving tomorrow, then?" he asked.

Arathell rolled her eyes. "No, I do not object to it. I simply mean that it would have been nice to have you all consult me with the decision. I am a member of this Fellowship, and I have opinions and you should not toss them aside just because you think that I will be comfortable with your choices."

"It was not so much of a choice as more of a demand from Lord Celeborn. He thinks that we are well rested and under these trees, he fears that we have quite forgotten our purpose and our mission. We have tarried too long here, and I quite agree. The others did not have any involvement in the decision, just as you did not. It was your kin who commanded it."

She huffed but accepted the answer, walking into the dining hall and gracefully taking her seat at the table. She ate her dinner lazily despite knowing that this was the last dinner she would possibly ever have in her kin's home. If she ever passed through the gardens of Lórien again, it could very be as a dead body, bereft of spirit and ready to be pushed into a dusty tomb, honored with flowers – if she hadn't already been thrown into a mass grave, that is.

The dinner was silent, evidently due to everyone knowing of their continuation of their journey come the following morning. They would be without help once more and without Gandalf, Arathell felt almost like quitting this expedition and waiting for the doom to overtake her. What more was there in life other than death?

"I trust Aragon has told you of your departure tomorrow?" Celeborn mentioned idly, sipping at a bowl of warm broth.

She met the grey gaze of her grandfather and nodded. "I suspect we will be going by the river," she commented lightly. "You will have boats for us, I presume? With provisions?"

"Yes, you will have your boats and your provisions. Far be it from me to deny you this much," Celeborn retorted with a smooth gesture of his hand. Another Elf came by to take his bowl when he was finished and she gave the maid a smile when she took her nearly fully bowl as well. "There will be several other things that we intend to leave you with and they are being gathered as we speak."

"Oh, so that is where dear Haldir has gone. I was concerned," she drawled.

"Must you speak this way?" he sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead in a way that reminded her much of her father when he was distressed with her antics.

She scoffed and leaned back in her tall chair, completely throwing decorum out of the window with her lax posture and attitude. "It merely surprised me, my lord, that you found the need to talk to another in my Company before conferring your suggestions to me, your own blood. I would think that given that I am officially the eldest in this group, much of the responsibility for their welfare falls to me, making me a chief part in any decision made."

"And you mean that Aragorn, the rightful King of Gondor does not deserve some opportunity to lead?" her grandfather replied.

"He has led battles before with both Gondor and Rohan," she dismissed, completely ignoring the Ranger down the table. "And no, I believe that he should be instrumental; however, I simply would have wished to hear from my own grandfather that he wishes me to leave rather than hiding behind a Ranger to do it for him."

"Arathell!" Galadriel snapped, sounding truly shocked. "Whatever ill you bear for our decision, it is not ladylike at all to bring it up during a peaceful dinner."

Arathell sighed and took a few sips of her water. "I apologize for my tone. I understand that in troubled times such as these, we must often sacrifice the extensive desires of all people. It was… wrong of me to assume that my kinship with the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien would correlate to me hearing their suggestions and opinions when they are first created. Aragorn is as much the leader of this Fellowship as Gandalf was, and I respect your decision to tell him of your plans. He is, as you so eloquently put it, the rightful King of Gondor, and he does need all of the benefits he can receive during the flickering moments of peace we encounter of this journey." She threw aside the napkin from her lap and walked outside once more.

She stared up at the tops of the trees, feeling almost too cocooned in their hovering embrace. She could barely see the sparkle of the skies above her and it made her chest tighten with the feeling of claustrophobia. Arathell decided that it would be very good indeed to get away from this forest.

Footsteps fell behind her, not bothering to employ the stealth they obviously possessed. "Why are you so troubled, my darling?" the purring voice asked and Arathell swiveled to look at her grandmother. Her eyes raked the brilliantly white form, blonde tresses falling like rays of sunshine around her cloud puffed cheeks. Her grandmother was the Morning Star of their people, beauty emanating off of her with no effort. Even when she was truly angry, the woman was breathtakingly and terrifyingly beautiful.

Arathell scoffed at the thought of her own form in comparison. She kicked at the earth under her feet and felt little clumps of mud creep under the freshly groomed nails of her toes. It was cool on her skin and almost pleasurable. "My thoughts are not my own as of late. It is not the Ring," she rushed, seeing her grandmother heave a small sigh of relief. "I simply find that I am quicker to anger than I normally am. I believe that I can only blame the tension that is surrounding the Fellowship, and I am unfortunately at its epicenter. The others feel as if they need to make a stand either with me or with Boromir. In some regard, I am acting as the obvious choice, as I know that none of them particularly favor him, except Merry and Pippin who have hearts of gold. Nevertheless, they all still feel slightly upset at it because they know that with every step they take closer to me, it would only cause more strife with Boromir and that is something that I know for certain that we do not want.

"The world grows darker each night and my vision – my first gift – is gone from me. Even those I have known for centuries and even millennia are nothing but blank slates to me. It is distressing to feel this way, so helpless and broken even. I feel as if there is a piece of me that floats away down the river and I can never swim fast enough to quite catch it again.

"I am still distraught about realizing these feelings for Aragorn, and even with all of the logic in the world, my heart does not listen and yearns for him regardless, and it hurts. I can see the pain on his face, the pain of longing. He misses her and thinks about her every day. Sometimes I cannot even draw him from his stupor. I think he sees me and is reminded of her – he stares after me long enough. It cannot be easy. I know that it is not for me.

"And quite frankly, I despise the idea of ever leaving these trees, but feel trapped within their embrace all the same. I need to leave here as soon as possible, but I know that the moment we leave, there will be no coming back. I most likely leave these woods with my death being my only future. I know what the Mirror showed me, but I do not believe that I could ever be fortunate enough to have children such as the boy I saw. The Man I care about thinks of another, and I do not know of anyone else in my world that could be there for me. That is if we survive this storm at all, and this is something else I find doubtful.

"And lastly, I am upset that Celeborn did not address his concerns with me. I understand that Aragorn needed to be there, but I should have been as well. I care about each of the people in this Fellowship and they look at me as another leader, as someone who will have ideas and support when the road is long. They know that I would give my life for any of them, even Boromir. They have become another piece of my family, Grandmother. And I have to take care of them. I have to have the answers for them, and I feel like I don't have the answers when Grandfather only thinks that Aragorn is capable of delegating what we need to do! I wish to help and not sit idly by, waiting for an order! I am a daughter of Elrond and your kin as well; he should know this! He should know that it is not in my blood to let others protect me and the others when I am perfectly capable of doing such a thing, myself. If Aragorn and I can lead them all to safety and somehow win this war, then Aragorn will have more than one lifetime to give the orders and protect the subjects. Perhaps he does not need my help now, but what bad could my help do? I am experienced in warfare and the like and I can help. I want to help. And Grandfather only sees me still as the selfish elleth that cannot make up her own mind and thinks all life is inferior to her own. I leave this wood tomorrow, potentially for forever, and he does not know the kind of woman his granddaughter has become. He has not even bothered trying to know her better. It simply hurts because the admiration and love I feel for him in incomparable to all others, and he denies me."

Arathell sighed at the end of her rant and rubbed her forehead, her finger bumping into one of the leaves on her circlet – the one that Aragorn had presented to her. She thought for a moment of removing it, feeling weighted down by the burden. But after her explanation to her grandmother and after expressing her desire to stand strong for those in her Company, she left the circlet on anyway. Her father and grandfather and grandmother always wore their makeshift crowns. Wherever they went, they were lords and a lady that commanded respect and the need to be included in decisions. It was a part of ruling.

Arathell had never embraced that side of her lineage until this moment. She left the circlet on and vowed to herself that even when they left the woods tomorrow, she would have a circlet. She would be the lady of Imladris and she would demand respect. Maybe it was not the kind of respect that Arwen often garnered in the presence of the other races, but this respect would be even more important. Beauty was not what won wars. It was experience and determination and confidence, something that Arathell Duvainith was devoted to show to the world.

"You passed the test," Galadriel finally commented, no doubt hearing all of the inner dialogue as well as the verbal. Arathell stared at her kin stoically, refusing to blush at the praise. "Your grandfather does know you, my child. He sees the strength you portray, especially in front of those of your Company. He did not include you in his discussion with Aragorn because I believe he wished to see how you would respond to it. He wanted to see if you were as invested in these people as you claimed to be. Trust me, my darling; he is very pleased, though he will never admit it. He never does."

"Is that why you fell in love with him?" Arathell asked, soothed partially by the healing words. She was upset that she had only been a game piece in her grandfather's infinite game of chess, but she knew that she could not blame him. They were blood and she would have given a similar test. Still… it stung.

Galadriel laughed. "No, it is not. I realize that at times, he must seem to have no care of the world around him, but I see more than that. It is beneficial for me to see what happens when he thinks. It makes our bond stronger, I believe. But no, I fell in love with him because he was persistent. It was long ago, even for our standards. I was young and arrogant, much like you were," she said with a knowing smile. "But unlike you, I came to Middle Earth for the purpose of finding where I was meant to rule from. I wanted a land of my own so fiercely, and I went from place to place here, looking and looking. I could not find anything by the hard earth and piles of rock that had been claimed already by Dwarves. I came to Doriath, upon invitation of King Thingol, a line that Celeborn belongs to. As stated, I was arrogant, but I looked into him and saw the purity of his heart, shrouded in mists of mystery and I knew that he was my One. But I never let him think that, allowing him to follow me and plead for my affection. One day, he threw aside propriety and placed a kiss on my lips in front of all of the royal subjects. We departed Doriath not much later in search of a home we could build together. I learned then that it was not the land that made these woods my home, but it was the creature I was with that made the world seem that much more brilliant. Colors shone and the light of the stars, sun, and moon seemed brighter than ever before. It is a beautiful feeling, and I do pray to the Valar that one day you will feel it."

Arathell sighed. "Maybe one day," she agreed.

"Go now and rest," Galadriel cooed, resting her hand upon her cheek. Arathell suddenly felt terribly tired and nodded. "Your journey tomorrow will be swift and relentless. You must be strong for whatever horrors you are about to face. Take the strength of these trees with you when you sleep and let them take root in your soul so that you may feel their support in lonesome fields and desolate caves."  
Arathell had stopped listening sometime after that, only walking slowly and almost clumsily to her chambers. She changed into her nightdress and burrowed into the blankets and fell asleep within minutes.

* * *

 **Last chapter in Lothlorien so please leave your love for it in the lovely review box! Please leave a review! Let's reach 400!**

 **ALSO: If anyone wants to see my interpretation of how Arathell looks, go check out my profile. My new picture is Arathell. :D**

 **Saerdor: Bitter One**

 **Saelben: Wise One**

 **Names are taken from realelvish . net.**

 **If there was anyone that I did not get around to responding to for the last chapter, I do apologize. Give me another shot! Haha But I am pretty sure that I talked to at least most of you. Thank you for being so understanding about it. It helps me greatly and now I can actually go to bed, which is always a plus.**

 **And check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	48. Chapter 48

**Hi there, everyone! So we made it to 400 reviews! Thank you all so much for the support! It makes me so happy to hear all of your kind words and they just give me the happy tingles whenever my phone lights up. Truly, you all are amazing!**

 **So! Since we made it to 400, I have my one-shot to give! Congratulations to LilianRose17 for being that lucky number 400! I have already written the one-shot and it has been posted. For anyone who is interested, it is called "An Orphan's Book." It features Arathell and Kara as a youngster growing up with Arathell. Very cute and happy, I must say. A definite pleasure to write!**

 **And at last we are going to be out of the woods! Literally haha excuse the pun, my lovelies! Had to say it. Let's get to 500 reviews!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

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Part Three – We Barely Make It

Seether - Save Today

"A tortured soul have I become  
It keep's me safe and leaves me numb, right?  
'Cause in this dream I'm wide awake  
The one I love I did forsake, right?  
I wish that I was wrong, that you'll come home again  
All this time I've lost, I'll never find again"

* * *

 **February 16, 3019 – River Anduin, Lothlórien**

Arathell stared, hypnotized by the steady pulse of the river. If she stared hard enough, her gaze could pierce through the bubbling current straight to the deep bottom where once shiny sand was brown like mud. Rocks dotted the bottom and occasionally, she could see the glimmer of a fish.

At the moment of her wakening, she dreaded the coming day. Or rather, she dreaded the coming journey. It was always a dark figment in her mind and she had never been hopeful about it, but there was something on the horizon that frightened her. She could sense something in the air that her world was about to change, and she did not like it. All she could feel was fear gripping her heart and pushing the worst of possibilities into her head. Each member of the Fellowship she could see bloody and dead whenever she closed her eyes. She was afraid.

She reached up to the circlet on her head, a much simpler one than the one she wore during her stay in these woods. It was a delicate band of a rich grey, a shadow even. But the point that drooped onto her forehead held a bright, silvery diamond. It was small by the standards of other crowns, but she felt stronger and more determined by its presence. It was fit snugly to her head – a vital attribute needed for their journey ahead.

Her grandmother pulled her aside, drawing her attention away from the river in front of her. "Haldir and his men are taking care of your boats," she told her, grasping her arm and walking with her back into the safety of the trees. For some reason, that only made Arathell's stomach tighten all the more. There were eyes in trees. "I have instructed them to give you enough lembas to carry you until you find another place to restock your supplies." Arathell hummed dryly in response and swept her eyes over her Company, seeing them clothed in the garbs of the city. "There is another for you," Galadriel murmured quietly and took one of the cloaks from one of the guards standing near. It was a dark green and looked relatively plain, but for the brooch that clasped the ends together. Arathell let Galadriel place it over her shoulders and place the pin on.

"They do not know how honored they should feel," Arathell commented, gesturing to the Fellowship who did not look terribly impressed.

"I am sure that their appreciation will come to pass eventually," the woman replied nonchalantly. "Celeborn has agreed to let me give you all other tokens as well." Arathell arched an eyebrow. "The Man of Gondor has been given a golden belt – something to possibly help remind him of the poverty he left in Gondor and to bring his mind back to the true quest. It is not much, but I hope that it will help."

Arathell smiled. "It was a kind gesture; thank you."

"The youngest – Meriadoc and Pippin – to them have come silver belts as well as the daggers of the Noldorin. Perhaps it will show them the greatness they are capable of, especially with the heritage they possess. Each are related to Bilbo and Bullroarer, albeit distantly. Legolas has received a bow of the Galadhrim." Her eyes widened at such news. "He has been pushed away by our people for long enough, Arathell. His father may not be pure of heart or mind, but he has shown great promise and continues to grow in a way that impresses me and your grandfather. You must push aside your differences if you are to succeed, Arathell. You must be more than simply cordial – you are trusting him with your life, as he is trusting you with his."

"What did you give Gimli then, if we are to push aside our differences?" Arathell retorted.

Galadriel smiled faintly. "I admit I did not know what would satisfy his heart that we here possess. But, his request was simple enough, and I have given it to him. I will speak no further about it. Frodo was given my Phial – the Light of Eärandil – with the intent to lighten his ways when there seems to be no other path. The way he goes is dark and treacherous and he needs to be reminded of the good there is in this world if he wishes to prevail. Sam has been given some our rope; I recalled him saying he did not have any. I also gave him the last seed of the Mallorn tree from my orchards. It is the last of its kind here in Middle Earth."

"Why would you give him such a priceless thing?" Arathell asked her, surprised at the generosity Galadriel was showing to them.

"He is a gardener and he will look after it once I depart from these lands. The Shire would be a proper place for it; it will live in peace and plenty there. You also care for Sam greatly, and I know that your judgment of character could never be false. If he is as pure as you believe he is, then he should be rewarded as much as he can be. I fear that his stout heart has yet to be truly tested and any consolation will be due to him."

She smiled and then looked over to Aragorn who was speaking with her grandfather. "What have you given him?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Galadriel gave her a knowing smile. "You shall have to ask him for yourself." She paused, leaving Arathell's cheeks to darken a little in the quiet before she continued. "I have come to realize that you are also in need of something."

Arathell shook her head and backed away. "Grandmother, your company has been enough for me. I hate to imagine how my Company would have handled Gandalf's… it would have been difficult if you had not been there to catch us when we stumbled."

"It is our privilege to assist in such a quest, my darling," Galadriel purred, reaching to tuck a strand of Arathell's hair behind her ear. "It curls a little now," she said offhandedly. "At the end, it twists as it never did before."

She blushed again and cast her eyes away. "He twirls it in his fingers when he touches it," she murmured. "It seems that the curl he leaves never goes away."

Her kin chuckled lightly at the words. "Healing hands of the King, indeed," she remarked.

Arathell fought the blush that tried to creep into her cheeks and blinked the thought away. "You said you had something for me, Grandmother?" she asked quietly.

She could practically _feel_ Galadriel smile and watched as she reached behind her to one of the other guards and took a small box from him. When she removed the lid, Arathell's eyes filled with tears and she gasped at what she saw. Arwen had one – a symbol of the everlasting love the Valar gave the Firstborn. She had the Evenstar necklace that showed an even higher rank amongst their race – the command for respect and for the acknowledgment of pure beauty. Arathell, herself, had never been given such a token. She had never been deemed truly worthy, but when she looked into the box, she knew that her time had come at last. "It is a late gift; I know," Galadriel sighed. "You have long been a champion of this undeserving land, and the sacrifices you have made and the love you have lost prove that. You are different from your sister; I daresay you always will be. Her pendant was born out of hope and gentleness. Yours is born out of determination and logic. Please try to remember that it is no less special than hers. It has a beauty to it that merely glimmers when a different light hits it. But you can be assured that when that light does touch it, it shines brighter than any star in our sky."

Tears slipped from her eyes when she ran her finger over the smooth jewel. It was a fantastic blue that glittered with a mesmerizing grass green in its heart, full of life and wisdom. Around it was what she would describe as a silver cocoon that held the stone in the very center, sharped with jutting edges that befit a warrior. "It is beautiful," she sighed.

"It was a gift that I was given, long ago. It was after I had pledged myself to your grandfather that I met him – Celebrimbor – the maker of the Rings of Power. He made two of these, you see. The first was carried to Valinor, saved from the devastation of our world. It was only after that I asked it of him that he fashioned another – this one. He gave it to me in the hope that I would fall in love with him. Unfortunately, he never could win my heart and he died not long after, tortured by Sauron for not revealing the location of the three Elven Rings. This one may not have the power of its oldest kin, but it is strong and it may help in your desire to control your second gift."

"This is the Elfstone? Elessar?" she murmured, surprised and very much afraid now of the gravity of what it was that her grandmother offered her.

"No, rather Elessar's younger kin," she disagreed.

"Shouldn't this go to Aragorn? He is meant to be called Elessar once he assumes the throne, as you told me many moons ago! It was your prophecy that you would not carry the Elfstone for long as soon he would need it!" she whispered harshly.

"And as I have said, this is not the stone, Elessar. And further, I have already said that there were two."

Arathell briefly looked to Aragorn and saw a chain around his neck, disappearing underneath his tunic. "You had them both," she realized. "How could you have both? The first went to Valinor."

"And Mithrandir brought it back for me when he first arrived in Arda," she replied smoothly.

Arathell sighed and looked again at the pendant, feeling her heart reach to cradle it to her breast. It was as if her soul knew this ancient relic belonged to her. It called out to her, asking to go to its Queen and the call was loud enough for her ears to nearly ring with its joyful song. How long it must have waited for her. "Does it have a name?" she asked hesitantly, almost afraid that this new piece of her would also rely on its older brother for fame.

Galadriel grinned and wrapped the chain around her neck, fastening it into place. Instantly, her heart swelled and she felt at peace with this pendant shielding her. "I have known this day would come since the moment I asked Celebrimbor to make it. I have never given it a name because it was never truly mine. It is yours and as such, it is your duty to give it whatever name you wish." Arathell's eyes widened and she reached to grasp the pendant in her fist, hoping for its name to be whispered into her ear like a song.

"Rhetar," she answered at last. "The Savior," she said proudly with a smile and even a laugh.

Galadriel laughed as well and touched her hair, leaning to press a sweet kiss on her forehead. "I pray that it will help you in any endeavor."

"Do you really think it can help me control my gift? You said that nothing could," Arathell asked after a moment, realizing at last that her time with her kin was growing shorter and shorter, and there were still far too many questions that she did not have answers to.

"I do not know. I think that it may help channel your desires to heal easier. The only thing that could triumph against Rhetar would be Elessar, and I doubt that it will ever go against you," she answered and then looked behind her with a sad smile. "Your Fellowship is ready to leave these shores, my darling girl. I do not know if we shall ever meet again."

Arathell's eyes burst with tears and she furiously latched onto the woman in front of her, afraid to let her go, just as she had been afraid to let her own mother go. "I need you still," she whimpered.

Galadriel pet her hair tenderly. "I believe you have all the healing hands you could ever desire," she said. "And you must know that the ones we love never truly leave us."

"My mother did," she pointed out, still holding the woman tightly.

"No, I do not believe that," Galadriel sighed, pulling herself away and reaching to wipe at stray tears that were leaking out of Arathell's eyes. "I see a likeness of her in your eyes. I see the motherhood and the love and protection that was so bright in her."

"I would never leave Kara as she left me," Arathell retorted.

Galadriel sighed once more and kissed her forehead. "Maybe his healing hands can heal your broken heart," she told her before turning away and walking to the boats.

Arathell huffed and hid her face for a moment, pushing away her fear and her tears. When she had finally regained her composure, she walked to the boats, finding that Boromir would row with Merry and Pippin and Aragorn would row with Frodo and Sam. That left her to sit with Legolas and Gimli in their own boat.

She paused before climbing in, seeing Haldir standing beside her with a sad smile. Her hand affectionately fell on his shoulder, his hand reaching to hold it there as they stared at one another. "I've never been good at goodbyes, mellon nin," she murmured. She didn't need to elaborate – both knew that there was a definite chance that they would not see one another alive again.

"We do not have to say one then, Arathell," Haldir replied quietly.

"Do you think?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light, though tears were clogging in her throat yet again. "I thought that since this may be the last… wouldn't you want to close the book? Be able to move on, knowing that you finished this chapter of your life?" she asked.

"I've always enjoyed a well-written cliff-hanger," he answered.

"But then we may never know how this ends, Haldir."

He chuckled a little. "Our friendship doesn't end, regardless of the story's conclusion."

Her lip quivered and she reached for him, hugging him tightly. Neither touched the other's hair, but the deep-seated bond between the two couldn't have tied them closer.

When they pulled away, she wiped at her eyes. "A cliff hanger, then? For one of my oldest friends?" she asked.

"A cliff hanger," he affirmed.

Arathell climbed into her boat and pushed herself in front of Legolas and Gimli. They did not say a word to her as they left the shores and Arathell found herself reaching for Rhetar, stroking the stone tenderly. It glittered at her touch and made her smile.

She did not look at her grandparents until the river was just about to bend. She met her grandfather's eyes and felt anguish that she had never said a proper goodbye to him, especially after her farewell for her grandmother and her makeshift goodbye for Haldir. After the disagreement with Celeborn, they had not said much at all, and she felt sick in her stomach that such a grudge may be carried with her to her grave. She rapidly stood in the boat and went to the back, extending the hand gesture of farewell to her stoic grandfather and was gladdened a little that he returned it without hesitation.

"He loves you dearly, Arathell," Legolas said softly. "You must never doubt that."

She looked down at the other Elf with a sad look. "I could never doubt his love. I doubt that he knows the depths of my own and that I could forgive him of any hurt he could ever inflict upon me. Do you believe that he knows this?" she asked.

"Lady Galadriel will soothe any worry of his, certainly," Gimli muttered with a depressed face.

She scoffed and looked back to where her grandfather was, only to see that he had departed already back into the shelter of the woods. "Do you think he knows it, Legolas?" she asked again with her throat tight again from tears unshed. There had been too many tears today… how much more waited for her in her future?

Legolas never paused from his steady rowing. "I believe that when a woman such as you loves someone, the whole world is able to see it." She stared at him thoughtfully and he looked up with a smile. "A love like yours is hard to earn but ever so magnificent once attained. Your grandfather knows very well that you love him."

She smiled then and looked back at the trees, reaching to rest one hand on the pommel of Ristor and the other around Rhetar – the Ripper and the Savior.

Arathell reclaimed her seat at the front of the boat and looked ahead to the leader of their small fleet. She could tell easily that it was Aragorn, with his nimble strokes against the water, entirely at ease. With her sight, she could see the muscles of his back working in perfect tandem, shoulders blending and jutting into and out of his back as he switched back and forth from each side of the boat. She could see his arms flex as he fought against the continuity of the water and knowing the strength of those arms well made her shiver, remembering being safely tucked away inside of them as well as being trapped against the forest floor with such arms on either side of her. Either one of those memories gave her a beautiful rush.

A thought occurred to her then and she felt her face drain of blood. "Do you really believe the whole world can see when I love someone?" she asked aloud. If everyone supposedly could see the love she bore, then they could also no doubt see that she cared for Aragorn. She would not deem it love – she would never call it that. To call it that would only give her more pain once his relationship with Arwen was more public. She would not be the type of woman who would waste away her life pining and loving someone else – it was not in her to do that. But she could not deny that she cared a great deal for Aragorn. Their thoughts were in sync with one another and he comforted her and made the hurt go away. He made her laugh and he made her warm.

Legolas chuckled from behind her, and she wondered if he knew what exactly it was that she was referring to. "I believe so," he replied. "Save perhaps a small number who are truly ignorant and painfully oblivious."

Arathell did not know how to respond to that so she remained silent and watched Aragorn continue to power through the small waves that crashed against his boat.

"I have taken the worst wound of this parting," Gimli said darkly from behind her and she found herself smiling despite her newfound worries. "For I looked my last upon that which is fairest. Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me," he claimed quickly.

"What was her gift?" Legolas asked curiously.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," Gimli admitted. "She gave me three."

Arathell's eyes widened. "Her hair?" she asked. "That is a sacred gift, Gimli."

"Aye," he agreed sadly. "The braid is small but it gives me more strength than even my own axe. It shines brighter than any jewel or crystal I have ever seen, and I will treasure it always."

Arathell nodded – content with his answer. The giving of hair was almost even more sacred than allowing one to even touch it. Not only where they sharing a piece of their soul, but they were giving it away, entrusting it. She could not think of a greater privilege and it was something that would surely be recorded in the books that would come from this tale, should they all succeed.

* * *

 **February 19, 3019 – The Great River Anduin**

The fear had resided in her stomach since the moment they left Lothlórien, and she was slightly distressed to even acknowledge that it had been growing. They had been on the river for three days, making camp on the west side of the river, always. She agreed with the reasoning up to a point, knowing that there were spies that lurked with sharpened swords on the east side, especially at night. However the majority of her fear felt like it was stemming from the western shore.

When they made camp that night, Arathell found she could not be bothered with sleep, feeling the fear grow every time she closed her eyelids. It was not her turn to take watch – Aragorn always took the shift just before hers – but she couldn't stop herself from standing from her bedroll and sitting down beside him without a word.

She hated feeling the things she did around him. Sometimes, she thought that if she spent enough time with him, she would no longer want to be beside him. Unfortunately, it seemed that those actions had the exact opposite effect she desired. Now, all she craved was to be next to him as often as she could. And he told her once that she was allowed to be selfish in some parts of her life. If she was going to die on this venture, then she would die as close to happiness as someone like her could possibly be. And if that meant hurting her heart more in the process, then so be it. She would not die with regrets. True, thoughts of Arwen often festered in her mind and she knew that she could never have him, but he made her feel more alive than anyone ever had. She would take the pain with the pleasure. That was simply her way.

"It is not yet your turn," he murmured, staring into the darkness.

She gave a half shrug. "Sleep eludes me," she explained simply. "It has ever since we left them – rather since Gandalf… In any case, I am more anxious amongst these trees. There is an evil here, waiting for us. Something unpleasant is coming, and I fear that we are not able to stop it."

"Then you should sleep while you can," he replied calmly.

Arathell shook her head. "I cannot relax and accept whatever is about to happen. I hate feeling helpless. There must be something that I can do to stop whatever this evil is."

He sighed beside her and rested his hand on top of hers. Her hand rotated instantly to grasp it and she squeezed. "You need hope, Arathell," he told her.

"We have exhausted that topic already," she excused.

"I am afraid of what having no hope will do to you," he carried on. "I cannot bear the thought that one day you will be swallowed by this darkness completely. Hope is pure and strong and it can make everything hurt just a little less. We need hope for this quest. We need to believe that there is even a possibility that the world can be safe again. The thought of clear water and shining skies and… clear trumpets… it keeps you warm and it protects your mind. It leads you away from despair, and you have already had enough of that in your life. If you continue on the path you are on, there may come a day where you will be like Boromir and no one will be able to reach you and bring you back to safety – bring you back to warmth."

Arathell stared at him with a sad smile and retrieved her hand from his to touch his face. His skin was warm against her slightly chilled hands and when her fingers buried themselves in his raven hair, she felt the silkiness of it, despite sweat clumping little tresses together. "Do you suppose that is why my skin is cold, mellon?" she whispered. "Your hand and face are warm, even with the winter not having fully passed. Do you believe that it is because of my lack of hope that I am cold?"

Aragorn sighed once more and grabbed her wrist, stopping its movements. "You are not cold," he said. His fingers on her pulse, ever-so-slightly stroking made her breath catch in the back of her throat. "You simply need someone to keep you warm."

She swallowed thickly and met his gaze. "And who might that be? Boromir and I can never be one and no one would want me anyways." She then looked away from him and pulled her wrist from his grasp and looked down to the dirt under her. "Who would want an impure woman in their nuptial bed?"

From beside her, it almost sounded as if he had had the air yanked from his lungs. He snatched her arm, swiveling her torso around to face him. His eyes shone with something that only her stolen gift would have been able to identify, but she knew that he was filled with questions. Her heart ached in her chest to say the words to him, but she knew that she needed someone to know. Her grandmother knew, but Galadriel loved her and could never find a fault in her. She needed to hear anger and displeasure from her actions. She just prayed to the Valar that he would not leave her when he learned this.

"Who?" he demanded, his voice sounding rough, "Who has done this to you?"

She smirked mirthlessly and tucked her hair behind her ear, reaching for the circlet that gave her surety and strength. "Rather, who have I done it to?" she replied. "It happened long ago. I was weak and afraid of my world falling in around me. He never meant anything to me – not in that way, and we both knew it. It was after my encounter with Angmar. I felt… lost and alone. No one had faced death as I had done against such a terrible foe, no less. I left the battlefield for five hundred years, terrified of what I might see should I have left Imladris. So I fell. I fell on whatever could comfort me and make the hurt go away. It lasted for only a couple of centuries and then he left me. He had found his One, or at least that was what he had told me. It wasn't until just recently that I learned that his feelings which were said to have been nonexistent have dwelt in him ever since and now he fancies himself in love with me."

"Arathell, who?" he demanded.

Arathell looked at him and scrunched her nose. "You hate me enough now. I do not wish to say his name. It will only anger you further."

Aragorn shook his head and reached to grab her face, holding it steadily between his now sweaty palms. He stared deeply into her eyes and she could see the hurt that lingered inside of them. "You thought you were alone. You had faced death and survived. How could that not leave its mark? It would be absurd for you to walk away without a scar on your mind. I am… surprised, to be sure. But I am not angry, not with you. Your family should have been there to catch you, and it is clear they did not."

Arathell chuckled mirthlessly. "You always put much blame on my family and all of their shortcomings. Do you not remember that it was my father who raised you as his own? He loves you still, as do my brothers. And Arwen! How could you say these things about them all of the time? Is it to soothe me? Do you speak treacherously about me to them so as to comfort them? Do you provide my shortcomings to them when they present you with hurt and pain?"

"I love them all, Arathell, and you know that. They are my family as much as Gilraen is. They gave me a chance at life that I would not have had otherwise. But you are different from them. The… friendship… we share is much greater than any I share with them. Is it not the duty of a friend to guard the other's insecurities and show that they are no such things at all? How long have you carried this guilt about your impurity, Arathell?"

She pursed her lips and glanced into the forest. "We should be keeping watch, Aragorn."

"Do not ignore me," he growled and her eyes swiveled to meet his gaze with surprise. "You always do this," he complained and she finally turned completely to stare at him, waiting for him to continue with his rant. "You are so afraid that there could be something that is possibly good in your life and then you have to run away from it. I offer you comfort and the opportunity to speak about how you really feel about what your actions have been and you flee from it. It is almost as if you actually _want_ to be miserable and you _want_ to feel guilty." She swallowed, knowing that he was absolutely right. She wanted him to be angry with her, but not so angry that he would be gone from her for forever. "I promised you that I was never going to leave you. I promised you that I was going to be there for you whenever you needed me." She stared at him, fighting her surprise at how well it was that he knew her thoughts. "You need to talk about this; I know you do. You would not have brought it up otherwise. I swear that I am not angry with you."

"You are angry with my family though, and I do not want that either. I'd rather you be angry with me than be angry with them," she retorted hastily, hushing the stirrings in her heart.

"Why?"

"Because I have been angry with them for millennia!" she snapped. "They have all felt my scorn and rejection more times than I can count. They have seen me angry and hurt by them and they still do not do anything to help me. My own brothers waited until my departure to apologize for their cruel words – words that had been said decades ago! I have not spoken truly with Arwen since the day you first met her. My own mother could never reach through my emotional barriers and she left before I could even try to bond with her. My father, as you claim, sees me as a pawn and allows me into his secret meetings not because he wants to please me but because he wants to exploit my skill wherever he can. This is my family. I have been angry with them for far too long, and despite all of the things they have done to hurt me, they do not need more anger to be felt toward them. They do not need the one good product of their labors to hate them because of one sour woman."

She realized she was lightly crying and she furiously wiped at the tears and looked away, hiccoughing on her choked sobs. "Who was it, Arathell?" he asked quietly.

She blinked hard and looked back at the others, seeing that they were all still asleep, the sounds of Gimli's snores likely muffling the conversation she was having with Aragorn. "It was Lindir," she admitted.

He was silent for a time before she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders and pull her to him. He kissed her temple with care and reached with his other hand to hold hers. "I have told you before," he whispered into her hair. "Your grievances with your family should not be discarded always. Perhaps now, however, you would do well to try to forgive them of what you feel they have done against you. This mission we are on may not be successful. We could die tomorrow. So we should not die with anger inside of us. Let it go." Her lip trembled and her heart suddenly hurt in her chest more than it had ever done before.

"You are truly not upset with me about my indiscretion with Lindir?" she murmured, afraid to break his serenity with her voice.

His eyes flashed and he looked back into hers fiercely. "No, I could fillet him alive for taking advantage of your hurt the way that he did. You did not deserve to have him love you first. The love you deserve is greater than any one man could give you."

"Do you think such a man exists for me, Aragorn?" she asked softly. "With all of this war and death… it knocks at our doors like it is selling buttons. How could I ever find someone you believe I am worthy of?"

He grinned gently and reached to play with her hair. "Wait for the person who pursues you," he began. "The one who will make an ordinary moment seem magical. The kind of person who brings out the best in you and makes you want to be a better person. Wait for the person who will be your best friend, the only person who will abandon everything to be with you at any time, no matter what the circumstances. He will do it because he knows that you need him. And further, he will do it because he wants to be there for you in your need. And he will need you just as deeply."

She smiled and inhaled deeply against him, taking in his musky scent, mixed with the athelas he always carried with him. The freshness of it combated the days they had gone without proper baths and made her calm. "And they exist?" she remarked. Even Aragorn could not be used to describe his words. Aragorn did not pursue her.

"I have never been surer of anything," he replied, taking another strand of her hair from around her shoulders to twirl the ends of it. She wished that she could have stayed that way for the rest of her days. Having his fingers in her hair and twirling with such care and affection made her warm. It still hurt though, to know that he probably did this with Arwen as well. The thought alone made her stomach feel uneasy and she reluctantly pulled away from him. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"Do you treat Arwen in the way that you treat me?" she blurted and wished the instant it left her lips that she could reel the words back inside of her mind.

"We have already established that I do not," he mentioned carefully, as if he was still unsure of what she was trying to say.

"No, that's not it," she disagreed. "Do you play with her hair like you play with mine? Do you hold her close when she cries and hush all of her worries away with your sweet words?" With her grave already dug, she found herself saying more and more, unable to stop the torrential flood of her insecurities from pouring out of her. "Do you promise her that you will never leave her? Do you promise to be there for her whenever she should call upon you? Do you comfort her when she complains about my stubbornness?"

"Arathell, stop it!" Aragorn snapped and moved to kneel in front of her. "Foolish woman," he growled. She looked away from him and firmly at the trees. "You truly have no idea, do you?" he demanded and she still remained steadfast in her glare at the trees. She heard him sigh and steadied herself, waiting for the rejection that was sure to come. She had not been so terribly blunt about her feelings and was therefore lucky – she could deny them if he asked her of them. But the pain she would feel would be left with her nevertheless. "Arathell, I –"

"Is it my turn to take watch yet?" she heard a sleepy Gimli grumble, somehow awakening from his sleep. Knowing that it was more than likely her own turn to take watch now, she still nodded and left her spot to go back to her bedroll, leaving Aragorn and Gimli to their own devices. She heard a thwack and then a muffled curse. "Sorry, laddie," she heard Gimli mumble.

Thankfully, she had put her bedroll far from Aragorn's the night before, so she was not bothered by him for the rest of the evening.

* * *

 **(FOR THE CURIOUS): Just so that you all know, the story behind the Elfstone is indeed real. Although when last I researched, it had not been concluded as to which stone was given to Aragorn – the one that Gandalf brought back or the remake that Galadriel is giving to Arathell here in this chapter. Obviously, I went with a hybrid for the purpose of the story and hope to the Valar that you all will forgive me for taking the creative license. (I think you will). Both stones are present in Middle Earth, one of them (the REAL one) being given to Aragorn and the replacement being given to Arathell.**

 **On that note: Elessar is what Aragorn is called when he is the King of Gondor. If you recall, Boromir mentioned in one of the earlier chapters that all of the Kings and Queens are named in Quenya, which is where "Elessar" derives from. The translation of it means "Elfstone" and is in reference to THIS stone that Galadriel gives him. It is meant to show his hand at healing which is talked about later by a healer named Ioreth from the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. "Rhetar" does mean "Savior" in Sindarin (if I recall correctly – it was a long time ago that I made this name for it) and that name was taken from realelvish . net as practically all of my names in this story are.**

 **What was Aragorn about to say? What IS the deal with the Elfstone being given to Aragorn? (Hint: what else should be around his neck… was it mentioned?) Hmm. Let me know your thoughts as well as what you think about Arathell spilling the situation to Aragorn about her affair with Lindir. And her bad vibes anyone? Any takers on that whole thing? Quite curious!**

 **Check out the one-shot! And check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	49. Chapter 49

**Hello, my lovelies! Thanks for the lovely reviews! I wish that I could reply to all of them. I was able to do so for the majority of them, but earlier in the week, fanfiction-review-center decided that it was going to have some problems. I can't see your reviews on the site, and therefore can't respond to all of them. As soon as the problem is fixed, I will be sure to send you guys the proper thanks that you each deserve. I've heard from other writers that this is an issue all across the board so rest assured that it is not your fault. Haha This has happened once before but it didn't last for this long, if I recall correctly. Anyway – I CAN read your reviews as they are sent to my email as well, so thanks for the kind words and I hope to respond to you ASAP.**

 **We are moving right along, everyone! I should point out I suppose that Part Three is going to be coming to an end soon. Gall it is crazy! Can't believe we've made it this far! Please review this chapter! It is a pretty significant one… *wink wink***

 **In other news: I've started writing Kara's story! Yay!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

The Pretty Reckless - You

"You can't feel me, no  
Like I feel you  
I can't steal you, no  
Like you stole me"

* * *

 **February 21, 3019 – The Great River, Anduin**

She stared out into the distance of her watch, eyes taking everything into account. The disquiet in her belly had grown even greater than before, and she was now beyond afraid of what was coming for them. She dreaded the moment completely and there was something inside of her that made her think that she would not be able to help it. She hated feeling like this.

The only way that she could even possibly hope to combat the feeling was to be ever watchful of her company. During her watches, she was steadfast and alert, waiting for the smallest sound to creep over Gimli's loud snoring. Often, she thought about kicking him awake so that his snores would not alert the Enemy of their presence. But she would let him sleep, knowing that her senses were far greater than any of the enemy's, save perhaps her sense of smell, but there was no doubt in her mind that the enemy had already caught wind of their trail. The river was their only refuge, and even then it only made her feel very much like a fish in a barrel.

A faint ripple dripped across the surface of the river and her eyes snapped to it in an instant. Her eyes raked the surface, seeing a small branch floating against the current. When she stared harder, she could see thin, bony fingers lightly draped over the wood. A grimace took over her features and she considered wakening Aragorn to show him Gollum's presence. She wished that the mangled thing would have stayed away, where he was meant to. How he had even tracked them this far was impressive to her, considering how long they had dwelt in Lothlórien. That would have meant that he had to have waited for them to leave without ever being detected, which was always a formidable task when the guards were Elves.

Aragorn probably already knew of Gollum sneaking along with them. Ever since the Ranger had been assigned the task of monitoring his whereabouts, it seemed that Aragorn was officially sensitive of the creature and whether he was near or not.

Knowing this, she decided that she would not wake him. She did not want to be bothered with him at the moment anyways. She still felt pain when she thought of their last conversation, but a part of her actually wondered what it was that he was about to say before Gimli had woken. She was grateful to Gimli, without a doubt, as it saved her even greater heartache, but now it put her in an awkward situation whenever she was forced to interact with Aragorn, which was already a demanded thing given their circumstances. She wanted to be near him more and sit with him in his quiet moments. She wanted him to play with her hair, but now she was afraid to even approach him with the question. Arathell had tested the boundaries of their friendship, and she knew that the moment she spoke with him about it, he would reprimand her, and that was simply something that she could not bear to hear at the moment, even with the growing darkness in her mind.

* * *

 **February 22, 3019 – The Great River Anduin**

When they pulled the boats onto the shore that evening, she stared with distaste at the small beach. Lately, everything had been feeling like it was closing in around her and she no longer had room to breathe and move. The size of the beach did not help soothe her nerves either. They were beginning to hear the crows of Isengard more frequently now, and with every squawk, she felt the doom in her heart draw closer, as if she needed the constant reminder that there was no escape.

She glanced over to the others as everyone began settling in for the evening, dinner already made and bedrolls laid out.

Boromir was poised behind a high rock, looking frightfully out at the water. She followed his gaze and scorned, seeing that Gollum had remained with them for the duration of the day. "Gollum," Aragorn explained when he also saw Boromir's staring. "He's tracked us since Moria. I had hoped we would lose him on the River, but he is too clever a water-man."

"And if he should alert the Enemy to our whereabouts?" Boromir pondered aloud. "It will make the crossing even more dangerous."

"Have some food, Mr. Frodo," she heard Sam call, but she ignored him and carefully approached Boromir.

She did not know what to say, so instead she just stood, staring as Gollum's log repeatedly bumped into a large rock planted in the river.

Finally, Boromir sighed and turned to look at her. He looked irrevocably sad and she could only mirror him. "There is nothing for us, is there?" he finally drawled, his eyes painfully clear and lucid.

Arathell hastily grasped his hand and held it to her heart. "Boromir, there will forever be a part of my heart that will be solely yours. You must know this."

He gave her a tiny smile and drew her hand up to place a tender kiss on it which only made her heart ache at what she could never hope to have with him. "Perhaps if we survive this, and all goes according to plan, you may give me another chance to win your heart completely. I do still love you."

"I know. And if that day comes, I will wait to hear your beautiful pleas," she teased and stood on her toes to place a quick kiss on his mouth. She felt nothing and that hurt even more.

Boromir seemed gladdened by this, but when he turned to look at Aragorn, she saw anger take over almost immediately. His moments of lucidity were rare now, but she treasured each one, remembering his joyful spirit and his pleasant laugh and burning kisses. She prayed that he would come back to her again, but she knew in her heart that he was gone from her forever. There truly was nothing for them; there was too much hurt.

"Minas Tirith is the safer road," Boromir told Aragorn, stalking up to the Ranger, and she braced herself for an argument. "You know that." Aragorn turned slightly to hear Boromir, but he did not seem impressed. "From there, we can regroup. Strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us," Aragorn disagreed.

The anger of Boromir disappeared and she saw raw hurt break him. He looked weak in front of her. "You were quick enough to trust the Elves," he pointed out, throwing his hand to the side, unable to fight harder for his people and knowing already of what Aragorn would say. "Have you so little faith in your own people?" he asked, tired and hurt. Aragorn actually looked slightly guilty at that. "Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage, also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that."

Aragorn began to turn away, but Boromir lashed out and grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back to the conversation and she stepped forward, ready to intervene as she saw that Legolas was as well. "You are afraid. All your life, you have hidden in the shadows – scared of who you are, of what you are." Boromir finally released Aragorn and the Ranger paused slightly before walking away. His face appeared only inches from Boromir's as he challenged the Gondorian and she took another step forward. "I would not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," Aragorn barked at him a cool whisper that seemed to only injure Boromir's pride more, so much to the point that she felt angry for him.

Boromir looked ready to storm after Aragorn, but she halted him, grabbing his coat and pulling him back. He looked furious with her for a moment, but she raised her hand to stop him. "I know," she murmured. That startled him for a moment and he looked at her curiously. "I cannot say that I agree that we should travel to the City, but I do know that he has always feared what he may become. He can be a difficult Man sometimes, and his mind is almost as stubborn as my own. I will speak with him, but I cannot promise anything, and I do not mean to change his mind about our road."

"How can this Man be the King of Gondor? He acts like he is repulsed by the thought of my people, as if he does not know the strain they endure day after day. How can he be so heartless and callous to them?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

She shook her head. "Ever since he learned his true course, he has feared it." She sighed and looked after him. "I will speak with him," she repeated before walking quietly to Aragorn. He stiffened when he felt her behind him, but she did not stop and took a seat beside him on his rock. "He thinks you to be callous," she began, "heartless even." Aragorn ground his teeth and looked away. "Have you ever been inside of the city, Aragorn?" she asked curiously. He still did not utter a word. "You have collaborated with Stewards and Princes of Gondor, but have you ever been inside of the city? Answer me," she demanded coolly and without emotion.

"Of course I have," he spat.

Arathell scoffed. "I have," she told him, ignoring him. "Seven layers of pure white stone, blended into the mountains as if it was a painting." He looked ready to interrupt, but she continued anyway. "But it does not matter what it looks like. It is the people that make the stone glow. I have seen soldiers, highly decorated with the wings that give their spirits flight and with rich, navy blue capes that draw the sun's eyes. I have seen mothers, full and proud with smiles on their faces as they trade and sell the goods they have made with happy neighbors. I have seen children running through the streets like water flows over the falls and laughter on their lips and toys clutched to their chests as they run playfully from the other children. I have seen the elders of the city, stoic on the porches of their homes, smoking their pipes and at peace, watching the same things I have described. The White Tree of Gondor used to stand proud on the highest level, in full bloom throughout all of the seasons. Never wind or storm could tear its boughs low. It was a tree of Gondor and that meant strength and constancy and wisdom.

"I saw the White Tree wither, dying even with ages left to live. The blooms fell to the stone, abandoned by those who once would have bowed low to it. True, it is still guarded, but it is with an empty heart that this is done. Their supposed hope is nothing but a mask of devastation and loss. The soldiers do no longer fly; they cower and swallow their bile when their death comes, afraid. The women stay inside, purposefully ignorant of what terrors could lay outside their doors, trying to hide from the devastation that lurks just outside. The children are cocooned in the warmth of their home, old toys abandoned in dirty corners. The old look out their windows and remember the days when their own elders would sit outside in the sun, wondering what that could be like – a world without fear."

She scoffed and saw that he remained perfectly still. "Isn't it fascinating that the greatest kingdom of Middle Earth is afraid of itself? It doesn't seem right."

"They fear because of Mordor beside them," Aragorn explained tiredly.

"That is only the obvious answer," she dismissed. "I think that they are afraid because they are alone. Rohan struggles with its own problems and leaves Gondor surrounded, without hope." He stirred at the word, as she knew that he would. "You say that you fear for me and what my lack of hope will do to me. You also say that perhaps it is because I have been alone for so long that I do not have cause to hope. Can it not also be the same for the people of Gondor? Why is it that you need me, a solitary Elf in this war, to have hope when you can dismiss a whole country and their silent cries for help? There are children there, Aragorn – children! Beautiful, innocent children that may never know why their fathers never returned or what color the sky used to be before this dreadful darkness! Perhaps it is the mother in me, but it hurts my heart and soul to know that this is their fate should we forsake them. Boromir was all the hope they had, and you know that. Denethor has never known how to rule that country as it needs to be ruled. With Boromir with us, decaying as he is, what hope does Gondor have at all? Who else can pull them from their darkness if it is not you?"

"There are other ways," he denied.

"No, my friend, there are not. You have to let go of who you were to become who you will be," she replied sadly. "Without you to stand beside them and give their wings flight again, they will fall, as all wingless birds do. We both know that the moment that Gondor falls, the rest of the world will not be far behind. Gondor is the last – it is the world's last hope. Would you abandon them and let all good die with them?"

Arathell did not wait for him to reply, knowing that she had given him enough to consider.

* * *

 **February 23, 3019 – Near Sarn Gebir**

Arathell shuddered from the icy wind that blew on her face as they exited the boats. Despite being Elf-kind and being incredibly tolerant of most forms of weather, she knew in her heart that she was weary. The days on the River seemed to be endless and with the fear gnawing at her insides like a dog would a bone, she felt punctured and perforated. Adding the Ring to her troubles and the rest of the Fellowship's silence, everything in her being could only ache with exhaustion.

She threw herself down on the shore, giving up the pretenses that she was alright. She knew that no one would bother her. The boats were dragged up so the tide would not steal them and she stared up into the night. The stars still shone, which was a blessing. She supposed that this was how the Mortals would see them too, brightly lit but still so far. She knew not how Varda created them, only that they were thrown as flower petals by her.

She stared at the shapes they made in the inky blue of the night, names of their patterns slipping from her mind as she released them from such prisons. They seemed to spill out for her eyes, ever reaching for more darkness to touch. They lost their shapes, simply existing as their own, brave unit, fighting the darkness in the only way they knew how. She smirked. Arwen was a star indeed.

So she looked further beyond such ethereal glows, looking at the blues and purples and blacks. Their colors were darker but still rich. They held the world perhaps not in a warm and loving embrace as the Sun or the stars did, but it held the world in a protective one nevertheless. Everywhere she looked there was depth that never seemed to end. It was a cold embrace, this form of darkness, but it was nothing like what Sauron had planned for them. This darkness was natural; cocooning the world as it lulled its people to slumber, fighting to keep them safe through the night. She was the Beautiful Darkness.

A shadow crept over her vision as she continually stared. It flapped with surety, but not in the cool colors of the night, but with black malice. Her eyes widened as she stared at it further. "We're under attack!" she yelled, leaping to her feet and drawing Finelleth and an arrow from her quiver.

Everyone leapt into action and stared up at the night for the invisible being that only she could see. Legolas appeared at her side, searching with an arrow pulled taut on his bow from Galadriel. "What is it?" he asked her in Sindarin, still searching.

"I know not," she replied quietly in her native speech. "It is not a bird; this I can promise you," she whispered. "Its wings are much like a bat, but it woke something dark inside of me when I gazed upon it. This is no friend to our Company."

"Where has it gone then?" Legolas returned.

"Perhaps it was a scout," she suggested. "It flew over the trees, just there," she said, pointing. "It could not have landed in them; it was too big to do so."

Legolas pondered for a moment, trying to understand the implications. "If this was but a scout, then who could it be scouting for? And how far behind is its master?" he asked.

Their question was answered soon enough when perhaps a dozen bowstrings sang through the air. The Hobbits shrieked with surprise and she ran to their aid immediately, releasing an arrow into the depths of the trees, hearing a loud scream break the night's peace.

Orcs appeared in front of her, their armor dark and rusted from disuse. She ducked underneath the clumsy swing of one to smash her elbow against the back of its head, sending it careening into the Merry's sword. Another charged at her, but she parried well enough to disarm it, slicing at its jugular not a moment later. More and more leapt out at her, and she felt her strength surge, desperate to live and even more desperate to protect the Hobbits.

At a pause in her endeavors, she scanned for the others, spotting Aragorn carving and Boromir striking. The others all were alive. "Thellie!" a Hobbit cried and she was suddenly tackled to the ground, rolling through the sand and mud. She yelped as the mass landed on top of her, knocking the air from her lungs.

"What a pretty plaything," a raspy voice croaked into her ear and she shuffled under the heavy weight of the Orc. "What do they keep you for, pretty? Do you make good sport?"

She screamed in disgust and managed to withdraw one of her arrows from her quiver. When a cry, she pierced the Orc in the eye, hearing it scream in pain and she continued to drill the weapon deep into his skull, feeling warm blood trail down her arm. With it slowly dying, she flipped herself over so that she straddled the beast and pulled a dagger from her side to swipe at its throat, ending its existence.

A loud cry was heard from overhead and she looked up to the massive shadow swerve in its flight before falling ungracefully into the woods. She felt the ground shake with its landing under her and saw the remaining Orcs take flight back into the trees.

"Arathell!" she heard and spun around with her dagger held high to see Aragorn rushing at her. She sighed in relief and lowered her dagger. "Are you hurt?" he demanded.

She shook her head tiredly and pushed a strand hair out of her face. "It is not my blood," she replied.

He investigated her for a moment longer before he seemed satisfied that she was indeed alive and well. "Where is your blade?" he asked.

Arathell glanced around her, surprised that it had gotten from her at all. She looked toward the Hobbits, seeing Sam bashfully pick it up from the dirty forest floor and begin walking over to her with it. "The last filth kicked it out of your hand when he tackled you," he explained. "It is rather heavy."

She smiled gratefully and took it from him, already thinking of cleaning it of blood. "It is actually remarkably light, given that it is made by my people. But I suppose it would seem heavy to you," she replied. "Aragorn, help me up," she sighed. He took her arm and pulled her to her feet. She felt him still staring at her, as if now investigating the parts of her that had been hidden underneath her while she had been sitting. "Aragorn, I am quite alright. There is no need to worry over me."

He shook his head dismissively. "It is not like you to allow any to tackle you to the ground. You have lost your harshness."

"I was looking after the others," she dismissed and walked to her abandoned pack, happy to still find a clean cloth.

"You were trying to look after all of us," he disagreed. "I saw you looking for Boromir and the others. You know better than that. We are capable fighters and you should have focused on staying with the Hobbits, instead of looking for ways to take care of the rest of us. You could have gotten yourself killed."

She guffawed in anger and threw her hands into the air. "I am more than capable, Aragorn, and you know that. There is no reason to fear for me. Clearly, I had it all under control, but you will not see that. All you see is a woman who needs protecting at every turn. Only in the sparring ring do you ever treat me as if I am your equal on the battlefield."

"You know very well that that is not true," he snapped.

She pursed her lips, knowing that he was indeed right. She had let her emotions and her fear from the moment before control her thoughts. He never had doubted her before, but she was still disturbed with him at the moment. "Then cease your worrying over me."

Aragorn latched onto her arm, but she yanked it away and looked down to still see Sam watching the two of them interestedly. He seemed angry with Aragorn, but not as he had been with Boromir when he had caught them kissing all those months ago. "I think if Miss Thellie doesn't want you touching her, then you best do as she says. Like she told you, she can take care of herself and you needn't be testing her patience. Can't you see she is tired?"

"Sam, please," she said gently and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Go help Gimli get a fire going. I am quite sure that you are hungry." Sam seemed ready to argue but she shook her head once more and watched him reluctantly leave to walk toward the disheveled campsite.

Arathell looked back at Aragorn and sighed and walked to the shore, kicking little rocks into the water. She moved further downriver away from the prying eyes of the others and removed her Elven cloak and unstrapped her outer layer of armor, unclenching her muscles and letting them relax. The makeshift form of armor rarely ever bothered her, having long since become an extension of herself. It was light and it still allowed her to move as she wished to. Its tightly shaped shoulder brace held her back in place more often than not and the corset of armor around her middle had saved her life more times that she could count. With all of these articles removed from her person, she reached up to her leather tunic cords at the base of her throat and untied them. She felt Aragorn's eyes still resting on her until she lifted the bloody article over her head, with nothing but a light, cloth tunic which only really acted as protection from irritation from the leather tunic. Her arms were left bare and the material clung to her sweaty form.

She did not mind Aragorn's presence and stepped into the water, scrubbing at the caked on blood on her skin. "You are not hindered by the amount of armor you wear?" she heard him ask.

Arathell shrugged and then realized that he hadn't been looking at her and wouldn't have seen the gesture. "I do not believe it does. It is nothing compared to some sets of armor that I have worn in the past. Elven armor is never very heavy to begin with. I don't wear the chainmail shirts which makes my weight smaller."

She heard him hum in response and rolled her eyes. "Was that the fear that has been wreaking havoc on your mind?" he asked softly.

Arathell paused in her ministrations, noticing how black the water had become around her. "No," she finally answered. "I still feel the evil that is waiting. Something else is going to happen." Again, he hummed. "Why do you worry so much over me? And do not say it is simply you being kind. You do not treat the others the way you treat me, and I disapprove of that. I am neither the one carrying the Ring nor the one who needs the greatest amount of protection. And yet you worry more over me than you do the others."

"Something has changed in you, Arathell," he remarked and she turned around to look at him, seeing that his back was still turned to her. She swallowed at the sight of him and felt a shiver race down her spine, thankful that he could not see her. The water seemed colder around her, constricting her and she did not like it. She moved back to the shore and grabbed her cloak, wrapping it around herself and drying her arms. "You have grown to care more for all of them than you used to."

"I have always cared for them," she replied dismissively and stood next to him.

He shook his head and turned to look at her. "You have always been a distant woman, Arathell. You rarely allow yourself to become overly invested in anyone. You are afraid to. You allowed Kara into your life because she was young and innocent with no record of darkness. You allowed me into it because I have never posed a threat to you before. But others… even your family, you do not let them in. It has always been as if you were ready for them to die, so that you would not feel the pain of when they would. But the Fellowship… they have become a part of you and you treat all of them as if you need to protect them and make sure that nothing bad befalls them."

"That is the purpose for the Fellowship," she answered, neglecting to respond to his jibe about her inability to grow close to people. It was far too true for her. She did not like getting close to people, because she knew that it was more than likely that she was going to have to say goodbye to them for some reason or other.

"You once told me that you joined this venture so that you would not feel as if you were doing nothing to stop the darkness. Now, you see yourself as a caretaker and perhaps a mother to the Hobbits."

"This does not answer my question about why you worry over me so," she retorted, pursing her lips in contempt and looking anywhere but at him.

He sighed and walked in front of her, forcing her to look at him. His fingers reached out to touch her cheek and then they traveled further until they touched the long tendrils of her hair. "What always made you so fierce in battle was the very ability to distance yourself and to not feel the pain around you. Now that you expect yourself to take care of everyone, instead of all of us taking care of each other, you have become slower and more prone to injury. You are not emotionless anymore."

"I thought you wanted me to feel something," Arathell replied quietly.

Aragorn pushed his forehead against hers. "You could very well be the death of me; did you know?" he remarked and she smirked and tried to keep her breathing soft. Her heart was racing in her chest at how close he was to her. If she pushed herself not even two inches further, her lips would be on his. But she couldn't. She would not do that to Arwen. She was many things, but she never wanted to be the whore who vied for another's love and acted upon such selfish desires. She pulled herself away completely and walked back to her own armor and began dressing herself again. "Of course I want you to feel something, Arathell," he murmured, carrying on with his lecture. "Feeling things allows us to still feel alive and they keep us from turning dark. Emotions make us good. However if feeling protective over the Fellowship causes you to get hurt then I would almost prefer you reject feeling such things. Arathell, if you were hurt…"

"I can heal, Aragorn," she argued, strapping her shoulder coverings on.

She heard him growl and was suddenly spun around in his arms and pushed against the rock that held her clothes. The sharpness dug into her back and made her wince, but he did not relent. "I swore to you that I would never leave you," he snapped at her and she froze, terrified. "I swore to you that I _could_ never leave you. Why is it so important that I never leave you?" He gave her an angry shake. "Answer me!"

She released a shaky breath. "Because I need you," she replied as calmly as she could. "People have left before and I have adapted to their absence. But if you left, I do not know what I would do. You can't leave me because I'm scared of what I would become without you at my side."

His gaze softened, but his grip on her remained tight. "Is it so hard to believe that that is why I need you?" She cocked her head to the side, confused and still wary of whatever it was he was trying to say. "Arathell, you would be a fool to think that I do not need you just as fiercely as you claim to need me. You do not know what your pain or your death would do to me." Her lip trembled. "Woman… you have given me courage and strength and wisdom. You have even given me hope. If I lost you…Arathell, I cannot lose you."

She glanced to the side, afraid of what she was seeing in his eyes. She did not have her gift of visual truth, but she remembered the look well enough. Boromir had worn it once. Even Lindir… "You have Arwen if you lose me," she murmured. "I would have no one if you were taken from me, Aragorn. You are my truest friend."

He took a step into her so that she could feel his chest lightly pressed on hers. Her heart was in a perpetual state of restlessness and she couldn't stop herself from taking quick and shallow breaths as she looked up at him, forcing herself to avoid staring at his lips. "Is that all I am to you?" he whispered.

* * *

 **I'm evil. And I've accepted that. I really do wish that I was sorry… haha I'm evil. So… what is going on? Let me know your thoughts, dear readers! I'm really looking forward to hearing you on this one. Pretty please?**

 **Side note: If you look at the appendices, the Fellowship is attacked once on the River, complete with big, flying, mysterious object.**

 **Check out the music! This song is PERFECT for Arathell's feelings, and I know that next to none of you check out the songs I recommend, but this one you should definitely take a peek at! Will help greatly with understanding that inner turmoil that Arathell has going on. And all of the lyrics are spot on for her - deciding which segment to include at the beginning of the chapter was the hardest musical selection decision I have made thus far!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	50. Chapter 50

**Wow. That is really all I can say. Guys, your response to the last chapter… I… wow…**

 **Fanfiction fixed its issues and as far as I know, I have responded to everyone who has left a review – if I didn't get back to you with the thanks you deserve, feel free to chew me out.**

 **So… this chapter is QUITE important. I think a lot of questions are going to be answered here. PLEASE REVIEW! Let me hear everything you gotta say about the chapter. I cannot tell you how excited I am to hear from you, so please, please, please say something!**

 **Part Three will also be coming to a close within the next couple chapters. I should let you all know that there are six parts in total. So… yes.**

 **PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE LAST CHAPTER LEFT OFF. (Thank goodness for you guys, right?)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

White Flag - The Mayfield Four

"My guard fell for you today, now I will surrender  
Take this prisoner, make him something better  
Reach down and pull me up, don't let your captive go  
'Cause love's wounds have made me weak  
Can't stand up on my own

'Cause you bring me to my knees  
For you I'd do anything"

* * *

 _He took a step into her so that she could feel his chest lightly pressed on hers. Her heart was in a perpetual state of restlessness and she couldn't stop herself from taking quick and shallow breaths as she looked up at him, forcing herself to avoid staring at his lips. "Is that all I am to you?" he whispered._

"I…Aragorn, I'm afraid that I do not know what you mean," she hesitated, knowing that he had to have realized her secret. How long had he known of her feelings? And what was he going to do about them now besides humiliate her and drive her away? He could not need her. How could this Man, a King of Middle Earth, need her?

"What comfort could Arwen give me if you are not there? What could any woman, man, or child give me if you were not there? Arathell, you beautiful woman… how can you not see it? Is it because you are so afraid of believing that you deserve something good that you refuse to see what lies just before you?" his voice was so gentle now that it made her skin shiver when his breath touched her.

"Stop speaking in riddles," she demanded with a shaky voice.

"You have always thought that I gave my heart to Arwen," he purred, making her shiver again. "If you still had your gift, you would know by now that it is not she who holds my heart." Her eyes widened and she felt a tear slip from one of them.

"You… want me?" she said hoarsely.

"I always have," he confirmed. "I only want you. Arathell…"

"You want me…" Arathell could not believe the words she was hearing, thinking that it had to be a dream. How could he pick her? "You want me over Arwen?" she asked. "Everyone wants Arwen. Why do you want me?"

"Because you fight. You do not speak and you do not persuade. You act. You are loyal to a fault. You protect more fiercely than a lioness and you love with everything in you. I see your love and how it overtakes your entire body and bursts out in all directions, filling everyone with purity while keeping none for yourself. You are the most selfless, modest, loving, fiercest, wisest woman I have ever met. Your edges make you beautiful – like a diamond." Tears were leaking from her eyes now and she tried to free her hand to wipe them away but he held firm. His lips descended onto her face, kissing the tears and she shook with every touch, so unsure of herself and afraid. The feelings in her were building to a peak and she had no idea how to handle herself now.

"What do you want from me?" she cried.

He retreated slightly and looked confused. "Do you not feel anything for me?" he asked.

Arathell shook her head and then pulled herself forcefully away from him. "Of course I feel things for you!" she retorted, sobbing now with an emotion she did not know the name of. She felt scared and confused and dare she say it, hopeful. "I feel things for you that I have never felt before for anyone! But you were supposed to love Arwen! You were supposed to pick her like everybody else. I don't deserve you, and you know it! I'm dirty and impure and the second daughter to a Lord of Elves. You weren't supposed to love me!"

He took her again in his arms and pulled her against him in a tight embrace, trying to calm her cries. She felt his heartbeat – fast and shallow, but steady. She felt his breath skate past her ear, calmly and artfully in a way that made her hair twitch. His fingers reached behind her back and twirled innocently in her hair. Aragorn remained silent and she didn't say anything further, focusing on matching his breath and feeling both of their heartbeats relax against each other.

The position felt so familiar to her, and in that instant, she knew. When she pulled away, he confirmed her thoughts by reaching to capture her eyes with his hand, covering them while innocently stroking her face with his thumb. How had she never seen it before? It was there, just as he had said it was! He was the one to hold her before the journey even began. He was the one who had comforted her and washed away her tears and made her feel hopeful for the future. How many times had she resided in his warm, protective embrace and had not seen it – had not remembered it? He was the mystery that she had almost forgotten. He had been there since the very beginning, and somehow she had never realized it.

"It was you," she whispered and he removed his hand, but she kept her eyes closed, still afraid. What if this was but a dream? It couldn't be a dream, could it? "You found me in the hall when the Ring took my gift. You held me… you played with my hair." Her voice was teary now and she felt him push his forehead on hers, making the tears only come faster from her eyes. "You played with my hair…"

She felt his fingers go back to her tresses, combing through them gently. "I played with you hair," he agreed.

"You want me," she murmured, but her voice hadn't been as quiet as it was before. Something built inside of her and it made her feel alive. She could feel warmth and joy running over every inch of her skin, enflaming like fire where his skin met hers. "You're picking me."

"Arathell, you cannot pick your One. And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you," he remarked fondly and it was then that she smiled. Her eyes opened and still found him there, waiting for her. She felt better than she ever had before in her life and she felt as if there was a light burning bright inside of her, making her glow like one of the precious stars. His eyes were warm with love but shone like the waves of an oncoming storm and it made her whole body shiver to get closer.

"I'm your One," she confirmed, feeling his strength pour into her and make her grin grow even greater.

"You're my One," he agreed before leaning in and touching her lips with his.

It was the most fantastic thing she had ever felt and when he pulled away a second later, she pushed forward and took his lips with hers, still shaking from their revelations. His lips caressed hers tightly with his beard scratching at the skin around her lips, but she could never get close enough. Her hands glided through his hair, holding him to her body as he made the kiss deeper.

The second she opened her mouth to him, she felt him breathe his life into her and she gasped, taking in that piece of his soul and feeling it settle in her belly. She fought to give him that pleasure back, nipping at his bottom lip and hearing him groan appreciatively. He fought with his tongue as well as he did with a blade and the rock against her spine no longer hurt, but pushed her closer to him and held her aloft while he pleasured her beyond her wildest dreams. He seemed to enjoy kissing her, but she wanted him to feel the things she felt and pushed her tongue into his mouth, exploring while tangling her hands in his hair. The warmth of his mouth flooded her senses and she could no longer focus on anything else, feeling more complete and more whole than she had in such a long time. She needed air so badly, but she hated the idea of pulling away from this moment, hugging his face closer to her. At the last second, she broke away and inhaled the air, feeling light and dizzy.

His body was still pressed against hers and even while she tried to regain control of her breathing, she fought desperately to keep him close to her. "Arathell…" he panted into her cheek.

She fiercely shook her head. "More," she pleaded before attaching her lips to his again, restarting the battle that he clearly enjoyed.

Arathell was unsure of how long they kissed, but she knew that it was nowhere near long enough to satiate her burning desire. She remembered the feeling well, but it still surprised her to feel the ache in her lower belly, burning and scorching her insides, looking for more of his deeper, loving touch.

They pulled away completely then and she touched her lips, trying to deny how much she wanted him. "If we continue, I will not want to stop," she warned him.

He grinned and suddenly no longer looked like a King among Men. He looked like a Man who was mischievous and conniving and the way his eyes roamed her figure like he wanted to taste every inch of it made her heart pump ever faster. "I understand that well enough," he told her. His face softened and he carefully reached for her hand. "You cannot know how long I have waited for you, Arathell," he said softly.

She swallowed and her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. She smiled softly and touched his cheek with her free hand. "You must wait just a little longer, Aragorn," she told him regretfully. He looked confused and pulled away, staring at her as if she had broken his heart. "Boromir… Now is not the proper time to be showing my affection for another, especially when he is incapable of not seeing it. I once thought that he was lost to me, and perhaps he truly is, but even after everything that he and I have been through, he is still a good Man at heart without the Ring there to corrupt him. I will not forsake him and let him fall – not if I can help it."

"You want him?" Aragorn assumed, withdrawing into himself.

"That is not it at all. I know with all of my heart that I could never love him the way that he wants me to. Nor could I ever learn to care for him as much as I care for you or depend on him as I depend upon you. I would choose you, Aragorn, just as you said you would choose me, in any lifetime or any shred of reality. I am not saying that only you must wait, because I am imposing this on myself. I know that if we succeed with this quest and somehow we rid the world of Sauron's malice, Boromir will understand that he and I can never be together in the way he wants. And I think that even he knows that now to an extent. His mind is still muddled however, that is all. But I cannot push him further away. I believe in him, Aragorn."

Aragorn did not reply and while she knew that he was trying to control his emotions, she also knew that he did not appreciate the words she was giving to him. She did not like them either, but she knew that it was the right thing to do. Arathell walked up to him and clasped his face between her palms. "Just because I say that we cannot be explicit with how we feel around one another, nothing in my heart will change. I told you that I want you. And perhaps moments such as these will be able to come by to remind one another of these things. But I will not condemn a Man to a horrible fate just because I want to kiss another."

Aragorn sighed and held her wrist, placing a gentle kiss on her pulse. "Far be it from me to command you otherwise, Arathell. I would wait another lifetime for you if you asked me to."

Arathell grinned and kissed him again, trying to pour all of the words she did not know how to say into his lips. He held tight to her waist, clinging as if he was never going to release her. She pulled away after a moment and stroked his face, pushing the hair from his eyes so that she could see them better. "It is not even completely like waiting, Aragorn," she said softly.

He nodded and gave her a small smile. "A moment ago, you sounded as if you had hope for this quest. Did you mean it?"

Arathell sighed. "I do not know anymore. I do believe that you have taken my world and inverted it quite completely a moment ago." She gave him a smile that made her own stomach float. She could not remember ever being so overjoyed and at ease before. She felt at home.

* * *

 **February 24, 3019 – The Great River Anduin**

Arathell tried her best to avoid looking at the Ranger during the day. She was sure that Legolas had already guessed her reasons for her unbelievably chipper mood, and Gimli more than likely had as well, but they were thankfully silent about it.

In the boats, it was hard to focus on the beauty of Arda when Aragorn was only in the boat in front of her. She often touched her lips, trying to remember the neediness he had pushed into each of their kisses. She felt more alive than she ever had before, and she loved the feeling.

The fear for the coming days was still fierce in her soul, but she did her best to ignore it. The idea that Aragorn could be in danger after they had finally found one another was grotesque in her mind and she loathed thinking about it. He would not be taken from her – not it she could manage it.

It rained later that night, but the water running down the bare pieces of her skin only made her shiver with the thought that his fingers could be touching her this way. Unabashedly, she walked to sit beside him at dinner. He remained cool and tactful, neither giving her too much attention or too little. Nevertheless, she felt content.

So she watched the others, feeling sleep fight for her eyes. Everyone in that moment looked happy. Even Boromir had been pulled out of his darkness and smiled at the silly songs that Merry and Pippin sang. She had known for so long already that she cared for each of the members in the Fellowship. But staring at how they all interacted before her eyes, she knew that she was not alone in her caring. In fact, as she had already admitted to herself, these eight others and Gandalf of course had become a family to her, and she a family to them. They comforted one another and understood one another better than anyone ever had before. It was strange to think of it that way – representatives from all races being present and still able to get along as fondly as they were. She could not imagine for a moment that anything could change. She did not want change. For once, Arathell Duvainith was truly and completely content.

Even when Aragorn woke her for her turn to watch, she smiled through the grime in her eyes to take her place on the chosen rock. From a long day of rowing, Aragorn had fallen asleep before any conversation could be started, but she did not mind.

Her constant stare into the darkness surrounding them however had done a swell enough job to mute the ecstasy she had been feeling before though. The time was drawing even closer and the churning in her stomach only multiplied in the quiet of the night. Not even Gimli was snoring.

Arathell sighed and rubbed her temple, trying her hardest to fight the fearful thoughts that had lodged themselves in her mind. So busy she was fortifying what little mental walls that she had left that she actually jumped when one of the Hobbits rolled over.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing a drowsy Sam sitting up and rubbing his eyes before meeting her gaze. "My dear Sam, what could you possibly need to be awake for?" she whispered. "Gimli has watch after I do."

"I switched him tonight," he grumbled.

"That still doesn't tell me why you are awake yet," she replied as he clumsily made his way to sit beside her on the rock. "I have at least another hour before you are needed. You should rest while you can."

Sam shrugged and looked to the others. "Doesn't matter now. I'm up." Arathell continued to stare at him disapprovingly and she noticed a slight color change in the Hobbit's cheeks. "I also wanted to see if Strider and you had come to terms. It seems that you have, given tonight and all."

She pursed her lips and directed her gaze back to the woods. A part of her wanted to confess her relationship with Aragorn to Sam, if for no other reason than to ensure that Sam not try his hardest at being unnecessarily protective. After a moment of consideration, she decided against it.

"The misunderstanding has been settled," she finally answered. "All is well."

The Hobbit shifted on the rock, looking anxious. "If you don't mind me saying so, I'd say that you're quite wrong about that. And what's more is that I think you know it." Arathell's head whipped to look at him in surprise. Sam met her shock coolly and with a perfected smirk. "Thellie, we've been on this journey for a good while now, and we've known each other for longer than that. You may have the others fooled, but don't go around thinking that your mask is convincing everyone. I don't know what's wrong exactly – only that something is. And being your friend and everything, it only seems right that you tell me about it."

A laugh escaped between her lips before she could catch it and a tear dripped from her eye after that. "You've grown a great deal on this adventure, haven't you?" she murmured after a moment, evaluating the portly Hobbit in front of her now. She supposed now that 'portly' wasn't quite an appropriate term for Sam and his size. Still the largest out of the four Halflings, Arathell would heartily contend that there was a strength hidden away under all of the pots and pans – not fat. "The little Hobbit I met in Rivendell is not who is sitting next to me now."

Again, Sam did not seem too terribly bothered by her commentary. "I daresay that the Elven maiden I sit beside isn't the same one I met in Rivendell neither."

"Quite right," she agreed. "I'm incredibly proud of you, Samwise Gamgee," she mentioned. Only now did his cheeks darken again and she found it quite endearing – an image she had seen so often in Rivendell and was now such a rare occurrence the sight of the blush made a lump form in her throat. So much innocence was wasted and destroyed by this war, and she would keep all four of the Hobbits out and away from it if she could.

"Are you going to tell me what troubles you?" Sam tried again.

At this, Arathell sighed and gave him a sad smile. "Nothing gets past you, Sam." He remained quiet. "Elves are gifted with heightened senses; this I'm sure you are not naïve about." He nodded carefully. "I have been feeling something for some time now. I do not know what it is, but I have never thought it to be pleasant or a possible ally. It is making me nervous, is all."

"What about Legolas?"

"I haven't asked him about it – no."

"You ought to."

Arathell nodded without hesitation, knowing that her friend was right in his advice, but she was still quite convinced that whatever evil that was waiting for them would be arriving to their Fellowship soon. "Sam…" she sighed, unsure of how to broach the topic properly. "I meant what I said when I told you I was proud of you," she drawled slowly. "And I have always contended that you are a friend I do not think even the Valar would truly be worthy of. But you must know… this journey… it can only become more difficult and will definitely evolve into something far more dangerous than what we are used to. Lothlórien was a beautiful escape, but here… this is a war, Sam. People die one day, and more die the next."

"Thellie?"

"What I mean to say, Sam… just hold onto the happy moments – your beautiful poems, Merry and Pippin's songs, your Party Tree back home… especially Rosie Cotton." He blushed deeper at the name. "I will do my best to remain at your side and to protect you and the other always. But should anything happen to me, just know that I am proud, and I think your old Gaffer would be as well."

He stared up at her with eyes on the verge of filling with tears. She didn't regret the words, knowing that they desperately needed saying. Her death would come to her in time, and if by some catastrophic accident she perished before her Hobbits, Arathell needed Sam to know.

"We'll return home, safe and sound, Arathell. We won't lose anyone else on this venture. Not if I have any say in the matter," he murmured, looking at the ground distastefully. The fact that he referred to her by her given name illustrated the depth of his hope even more. And despite knowing full-well that he was not a child, she pulled his stocky build into her side for a tight embrace.

* * *

 **February 25, 3019 – The Argonath**

The next day, Arathell felt somewhat refreshed and even with the wonderful campfire the night before, words from her discussion with Sam were tossing their heads high for recognition. And what was worse was that she felt that the evil was closer – much closer. She still could not say what it was, but she feared for it greatly. Arathell broached the subject with Legolas, both pleased and disturbed by his agreement regarding the situation. That meant that the evil was very real. And it was waiting for them.

"I have felt eyes on me for the entire duration," he told her.

Gimli grumbled about the pessimism of Elves, but she nodded in agreement. "I must admit that a pair of those eyes may belong to Gollum, the creature. He has been tracking us since Moria – or at least that was the earliest point at which I discovered him. Unfortunately, I have seen him on these waters as well."

"I once heard Gandalf speaking as though he used to be of a race quite fond of water," the Elf agreed.

"It is how the Ring came to him. I heard that it was a family member who discovered it one day fishing and he murdered him in order to get it. Gandalf claimed that Gollum always said that the Ring was a birthday present, but that is no matter now," Arathell explained.

The river turned deep into the mountains, the water carving its way through rock and stone. The height above her was unbelievable and she found that her breath was quite stolen. She looked up to the sky, seeing the clouds drift with the wind in and out of her vision. "Being here… It makes one feel quite small, doesn't it?" she asked aloud, standing in the boat as if trying to get closer to those impressive cliffs.

"There are many things in this world that succeed in making me feel small, lassie!" Gimli snapped. "Now sit down before you fall out of the boat!"

Arathell grinned at the Dwarf and purposefully rocked the boat, hearing him shout in alarm and reach to grasp the sides with white knuckles. Arathell laughed happily, hearing it echo within the twists and turns of the canyon. "My dear friend, these boats are made so that they cannot tip. It is quite impossible," she soothed. "You need not worry about me or yourself falling out."

"Well sit down anyway; you are blocking the way!" Gimli tried once more and she finally complied with a shrug and stared up ahead to where the other boats were leading. Both Aragorn and Boromir had thrown glances at her when they had heard her laughter.

"You have been remarkably cheerful, Arathell," Legolas commented dryly. "You have been for the past two days, despite this impending doom that you feel. May I ask what has lifted your spirits so?"

She found herself fighting a blush and refused to look at him. The desire to not speak to anyone about her relationship with Aragorn dissipated, and since she figured Legolas was already aware, it could not hurt too terribly to relay such information to him. "I suppose that you could say that the two people who were oblivious finally had the truth laid bare before them. Revelations have been made and… happiness and… home… have been found." The smile was forever plastered on her face and she looked forward to Aragorn again, seeing him glance back at her as if he had felt her stare.

"About bloody time," Gimli remarked and she turned in her seat to stare at him. "Lassie, we have known from the moment we started this venture. And I suspect that that lad has been yours for longer than that. I can't tell you how frustrating it was to see you and Boromir – it broke his heart to be sure. I daresay it was almost pathetic. I don't know how you did not see his jealousy." Arathell thought of all of the arguments she and Aragorn had shared over the past months, all revolving around Boromir… was that the answer? Had they argued so much because Aragorn was _jealous_?

"You have never been in love, Gimli," Legolas said airily.

She scoffed and turned her gaze to the blond. "Does that mean that you have?" she retorted.

Legolas nodded stoutly. "Arathell, I have been in love for nearly a millennium. Despite your gift of visual truth, I suppose you must have been blind when it came to your own affections. Then again, you and Arwen have not been terribly close as of late, so that may also explain your ignorance."

Her mouth fell open as she heard the words and she blinked several times before the thoughts managed to organize themselves in her head. "Do you mean to say that you and my sister… you love Arwen?"

Legolas' face softened beyond measure and a lazy, happy smile appeared on his face. He took a quick moment from paddling to under his tunic to pull out a pendant – the Evenstar. "It was given to me the day that when you and I first departed Lothlórien. Surely, you remember such a day. You quite hated me then. We never found an appropriate time to tell you as we knew of your severe dislike for me and then you developed a severe dislike for her. She wanted to tell you desperately, but even for an Elf, time is capable of escaping us."

"She fell in love with you then?" Arathell asked, only now truly understanding why Legolas had known so much about Arwen's feelings and why he had been so concerned with the two of them reconciling. He had seen the apparent hurt that Arwen had been experiencing and was trying to make it better for his beloved. Despite having her gift of visual truth…Arathell frowned. How could see have missed something that paramount? How could she not have seen her own sister's relationship?

Legolas grinned again and Gimli scoffed at the expression. "She is the purest soul I believe I have ever encountered. Her ability to stay warm despite the growing cold and to stay lit despite the growing darkness is one of the most beautiful aspects of her. Many say that they love her because she is the Evening Star, but to me she is so much more. She is not just my stars, but she is my Moon and my Sun as well. You father has given his blessing to our union and should the war end favorably, we intend to bind ourselves to each other through marriage. We have already made our pledge. We made it one night while she still dwelt in Lothlórien. I had arrived for a visit, as an ambassador and all of the feelings from our first meeting came rushing back. I knew for sure then that I never wanted to be parted from her. We pledged ourselves to one another that evening and have never regretted it."

"All this time…" Arathell sighed. "All this time, I thought that I was betraying Arwen because of her relationship and attachment to Aragorn. I thought that they had pledged themselves to one another and now I hear that he had never been hers to begin with. All of the guilt that I felt was for nothing. In fact, I could have begun this relationship with him sooner."

"As Gimli said, Arathell," Legolas reminded, "We all saw clearly how much Aragorn cared for you. In fact, I think we all understood his affections the day we first saw you sparring together. The way he stared at you… You truly did not see it, did you? The way he looked at you… Arathell, he looked at you like the Moon and the stars shone out of your eyes. You are his world."

Arathell smiled again and blushed and turned to look at the Man in question. Just looking ahead at him, she knew. The concept of "home" to her had evolved from being a nonexistent, empty place… to being a person – to being him. In that moment she knew that he was as much her world as she was his. He was her One. And she wished to tell him that more than anything. A part of her even wanted to spring from the boat and swim to him to tell him. The feeling inside of her was just too fantastic to keep hidden. She knew already that he returned her emotions and so therefore, there was nothing there to hold her back. She would pledge her life to him and forsake her immortality so that she could have a life with him. Even with the chance that she could die tomorrow, she wanted him and she wanted him to know how much she wanted him before it was too late.

Just ahead, the canyon opened wide and she saw the river widen. Ahead of her were the Argonath – the most beautiful stone carvings she believed she had even seen. Made by the Men of Gondor long ago, she actually recognized the faces that that she saw. Great stone feet stood beside their rowing boats as their long arms stretched out to warn the ignorant traveler away. Stern eyes but fair faces made a shiver run down her spine. Their kin was there in front of her, small and insignificant looking in comparison to these stone giants. But she knew that Aragorn – should he take up his duty – would be greater and more worthy of remembrance than either of these Men.

The falls of Rauros were just ahead and from there, their journey would remain on foot. Once they passed the statues, the boats evened out with one another and she glanced to her left to Aragorn who was smiling quietly to himself. Merry and Pippin in the other boat were straining to look behind Boromir to look again at the impressive architecture. Even Boromir himself looked pleased to see the Kings of Old behind him.

They pulled the boats in at Parth Galen, a small shred of a civilization that once had respect and renown. These were the people who had built the Argonath, after all. Now they were nothing and their fortresses had long been dreary and melancholy, abandoned in death.

Sam was the first to get a fire going, poking at the embers with a stick and she watched him. She kept sending glances at Aragorn wondering where that euphoric feeling from before had gone. The fingers of evil were reaching for her and her company; she knew that much. Boromir was not acting like himself – more less like himself than he ever had before, actually. She was worried for his mind, as she often was, but more than that, she was worried for Frodo, who also seemed to notice the Gondorian's state. She liked to think that Boromir would never do anything that would put the Hobbit into danger, but the traces from that wretched night in Lothlórien were still marked on her mind as an emotional bruise. Just the thought that she had once been willing to bind herself to him made her stomach twist in protest.

Knowing and seeing Boromir, however, she decided that it would be better to wait to tell Aragorn of her feelings. She still wished that she could, but there was something wrong here. She felt like she herself was standing on the edge of a knife and with one wrong word, she could fall into darkness. So it was best to stay quiet, she concluded. Aragorn already knew that she cared greatly for him more than she ever cared for Boromir and that would have to suffice for now. Until she felt this evil hand reach for someone else, she would remain quiet. The Eye of Sauron seemed to linger forever on their Fellowship, even though she knew that was quite impossible. If Sauron did know of her Company, they would surely all be dead at the bottom of the Anduin now. Nevertheless, she knew that someone was watching her and she preferred not to give away anything too critical, even in private. Her senses were superb, but there was nothing she could do.

* * *

 **So… what do you think?** _Listerella_ **had the right idea many reviews ago about the whole Arwen situation. Did I ever actually write a scene with the Aragorn and Arwen actually being affectionate with one another? Nope! So, Legolas gets the big sister – what do we think about that?**

 **And Mystery Male? The identity has finally been revealed, of my goodness! And Team Aras? Where is everyone on that? Cause that is where we are headed, my lovelies!**

 **And of course… something is SUPPOSED to happen at after the Argonath… I wonder if it will. Opinions on whether or not a certain Fellowship member should perish?**

 **Please, please review! I want to know what you all think about this! Lots of things happened in this chapter and more things are going to continue to happen for a while.**

 **I also wanted to thank three very special people who have been so kind and thoughtful and with so many words to give me regarding this story. They've been with me for a while now and given this lovely ship, I think it is only right to introduce the head honchos of it:  
** _Miss Memory_ **– my faithful Captain who was one of my very first Aras shippers and who also made the beautiful banner for this story.  
** _RainbowBright333_ **– the First Mate/Second-in-command who has been so involved in the story and so supportive despite once being a Legathell shipper.  
** **And** _WickedGreene13_ **– my incredible Navigator who was also once a Legathell shipper and has been amazing.** **You guys are amazing!**

 **My First Mate tells me also that the Aras battleship is in need of some missile launchers, so if anyone wants to volunteer for those positions! Haha**

 **Check out the music! I think it is quite perfect for Aras. Very cute song. At least at this moment in time.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	51. Chapter 51

**Hello, my lovelies! Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, but a special thanks to all of those who followed and have been following! Thanks to you guys, this story has over 200 follows, which is incredible! Thank you soooo much for the support and love. :D You are all absolutely amazing, and I love you each to pieces.**

 **Happy Memorial Day to my fellow Americans and Happy Monday to everyone else. I suppose, given that it is Memorial Day…the topic in this chapter is perhaps appropriate. But in any case, please say thank you to your military today and I thank everyone who has ever served and been willing to give literally everything to their country. True inspirations and real life superheroes.**

 **Onto the story, which I know you have all been curious about for a while now! Please leave a review! AGAIN IT PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE THE LAST ONE LEFT OFF!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Three – We Barely Make It

Just Breathe - Pearl Jam

"Yes, I understand that every life must end, uh-huh  
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, uh-huh  
Oh I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands the ones I love  
Some folks just have one, yeah, others, they've got none

Stay with me...  
Let's just breathe..."

* * *

"We cross the lake at nightfall," Aragorn announced, still bringing things onto shore from the boats. "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the North."

"Oh, yes?" Gimli asked sarcastically and she looked at the Dwarf out of the corner of her eye. "Just the simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil: an impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks? And after that, it gets even better!" he shouted, waving a stick around. She sighed and looked into the trees. "Festering, stinking marsh lands as far as the eye can see."

"That is our road," Aragorn replied calmly, but she was hardly paying attention now. She pushed herself off of the rock she was leaning on and walked to stand beside Legolas. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my –"

"Can you feel it?" she whispered in Sindarin.

"Something approaches," he agreed, responding in the language. He turned and walked to Aragorn while she looked deeper, trying to see anything she could through the dense woods. "We should leave now," she heard him whisper in the Common Tongue to Aragorn.

"No," he discounted. "Orcs patrol the Eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

"It is not the Eastern shore that worries me," Legolas mentioned. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near. I can feel it."

"Arathell?" she heard Aragorn ask and she turned, giving him a stout nod.

"I have already spoken with you concerning my growing worries," she told him. "I believe that what Legolas is feeling is much the same."

"Do you agree that we ought to leave now?"

Arathell swallowed and looked at the Eastern shore for any signs of life. If seemed clear of Orcs and vermin but she could not see all the way through the vegetation. "It may be possible to make do until nightfall, but it is not something that I would recommend. I agree with Legolas – for once. I think that we would be safer on the Eastern shore. Even if we stay restricted to the shoreline alone, I suspect that we would not be found. If we stay here…I do not know. You are our leader."

He hummed in reply. "Then we stay here until nightfall," he decided.

She shared a look with Legolas who did not seem keen on the idea. She sighed and shook her head and trailed after Aragorn, pulling him to the side and out of the eyes of the Fellowship. "I pray that you are correct," she murmured in Sindarin.

He smiled at her and gently bumped his forehead against hers. "The consequences rest with me should they prove disastrous."

"You act more like a King every day. Did you know that?" she teased softly, feeling his hand slip into hers. He made it simple, looking out onto the water. He did not reply, but that did not bother her. "We must keep a close watch on Boromir," she stated. "I have seen him falter and he does not look well today. I suspect his disapproval will be greater today than it possibly ever has been."

"We will manage, Arathell," he soothed, tracing small circles on the back of her hand. "Unless it is your safety that you deem vulnerable?"

Arathell rolled her eyes. "I am quite confident in my abilities regarding my safety. I do not fear for myself, as I have rarely ever done. I fear for Boromir, and you know that."

"He is fortunate to have you as his ally," he murmured, "As are we all."

She smiled gently and touched her forehead onto his temple for a moment, drawing his attention. "I must admit that I have missed you greatly over these last days."

"At least it is not one-sided in that regard," he mentioned lightly and she paused, pulling away to look at him for a moment.

"And what are you implying?" she drawled warily.

"You seem determined to avoid speaking with me about anything other than this quest," he whispered. "More than once have I pondered the possibility that I had strayed into a dream."

She vehemently shook her head and turned his head so that he would look at her. "I feel deeper and more for you with each passing day. You must know that. Only realize that I am simply scared of how intensely I feel such things. Perhaps I am scared because you mean more to me than any other person ever has. You've become my everything in so short a time, and it has left me quite… disheveled. Aragorn, I have been alive for almost three thousand years. There are not many things that I have never encountered before. I have become… relaxed in my confidence and wisdom from the world. It has been millennia since I have actually had to learn anything of great magnitude, aside from becoming a mother. But what I feel for you is very different from motherhood. That scares me just as terribly. I need time to accept what it is I'm feeling, and I need time to act on my feelings. But never doubt for a moment that I do not care for you. You are…everything to me."

Aragorn smiled gently and reached to stroke her cheek. "I understand, Arathell. I do not ask you to pledge yourself to me, and I highly doubt that I will ever do such a thing. I trust your judgment, and I know that if you are quiet regarding your feelings it does not mean that they are nonexistent. I trust you." She grinned and leaned into his hand, feeling his warmth pour into her. "Perhaps it is because you are more in control of your thoughts, but I find myself only wishing to take you in my arms and hold you close to me."

She grinned and leaned into his hand. "I would never object," she teased.

"The others most certainly would."

"Apparently they have already assumed our relationship. At least Legolas and Gimli have."

"Nevertheless.," he purred with their noses touching. She felt her heart racing in her chest when she saw the storm grow in his eyes as his desire took over him. It unnerved her sometimes to know that she was the cause of such a storm. She had the ability to draw away the eyes of one who was renowned for his focus and determination. She truly controlled this Man and it thrilled her to the core. And she wondered if he would ever exercise his power to control her. For she felt that she would likely bend to every desire he could ever concoct. She would do anything for him if he but asked.

She cocked an eyebrow, trying to control her breathing. "Well they are not here now. If you intend to do anything, I suggest you do it now before they discover our absence."

He grinned widely, making her heart flutter in excitement. "I'm sure they already have," he drawled and before she had a moment to reply, she felt his lips pressing into hers. At the electric touch, she felt every vessel in her body spring to life and she gasped, as if breathing him in, never able to be close enough. Her fingers crawled into his hair and held him close. She knew that it was risky with Orcs possibly spying on them presently, but the need she had tucked away came back with a vengeance and she felt herself moan into his mouth and he increased the pressure. The pleasure he poured into her simply with the touch of his lips grew with each passing second they were connected. She felt whole at his touch and she felt as if everything in her world depended on this Man's closeness.

Aragorn pulled away first as he always did, but her eyes remained closed for a moment longer, relishing the remains of the tingles she felt at her lips. The need she had once claimed to feel for him had grown tenfold since they had admitted their affections towards one another. He could never be closer to her now and she was sure that if she lost him she would likely die of a broken heart. "Meleth nin," he purred into her ear and she shuddered. "I believe you will be the death of me," he continued in Sindarin.

Arathell chuckled airily and opened her eyes, lacing her fingers behind his neck. "It should not have taken me so long to find you," she murmured. "I have wasted so much time believing that I was alone that I was too stubborn to see that you were there waiting for me to come to my senses."

"You were not ready, Arathell," he whispered, putting his forehead on hers. "And you know now."

She nodded hastily and kissed him again, feeling such a warmth in her belly that she couldn't help but release as a tender moan into his mouth. "You would not believe how much I need you," she mentioned. "I quite feel like you have become everything to me – more so than you previously were."

He smiled and she felt his fingers in her hair. "I don't plan on going anywhere, meleth," he resounded.

A loud throat cleared hurriedly and they jumped apart in surprise, seeing a reddened face of Sam. Arathell sighed and faintly touched her forehead. "Sam, there is no need to be angry."

"It's not that," he interrupted with a hiccough. "Mr. Frodo's gone!"

She shared a look with Aragorn and both charged into the thicker parts of the forest, separating and looking everywhere possible. The precious moment that the two of them had just shared was over in an instant, and now they both could only focus on their task as a Fellowship and what they each needed to do in order to find their Ringbearer.

Her breath was shallow in her lungs as her mind raced to think of all of the things that could go wrong. The feeling that had been in her gut had grown even more and it nearly hurt her. She was afraid for Frodo.

"Frodo, I'm sorry!" she heard and stopped, panting. It sounded much like Boromir and when she carefully walked to the sound, she saw a collapsed solider on the ground with leaves and twigs in his hair. "Arathell!" he gasped when he saw her.

She recoiled for a moment, assessing. "What happened?" she demanded.

His bottom lip quivered and he slowly sat up and held his hands in front of her. "You were right," he started. She gave him a look of confusion. "You have been right all along and I was too blind to see it. The Ring… it has taken me captive. My thoughts were so… clouded for so long. You must understand that my father… I only wanted to do what would help my people – help him! But I see it now! The Ring cannot be controlled by me or by any of my people for fear of losing themselves. I should have listened to your counsel when you first gave it – when Gandalf first gave it. Arathell, I have hurt you beyond measure. Please…" he wept then and she shook with disbelief and ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck to rock his strong body. "I'm so sorry. Arathell, my melda, I am so sorry."

She gently shushed him and felt tears of her own begin to leak from her eyes. "I know," she cooed. "The Ring affects us all in some way or another."

"But why did I have to fall prey to it?" he cried. "I have betrayed you all. And Frodo believes that I look to kill him and I only wish to apologize."

"What happened?" she asked once more, cautious, but softer.

He shuddered in her grasp. "No time for that now," he told her and pulled away. "You need to find him. Find him and tell him I'm sorry. Tell him that I won't hurt him – that I know now. My mind is finally clean of Sauron's treachery and my thoughts are my own. Tell him that I will help him in any way that I can."

"Boromir," she breathed, surprised. She touched his cheek and looked into his eyes, a sparkling grey that reminded her of a twinkle of a star. He was himself once more. She saw the cloud pulled from his vision and she saw into the Man whose heart was as pure as Dwarven gold. He was back again.

"Arathell, forgive me," he pleaded. His lips were against hers before she had a moment to respond and for a moment, she froze, feeling his lips move and pulsate against hers as he fought to show the depth of his apology. At the touch of his tongue, she jolted backwards onto her feet and took five paces from him, breathing heavily. "Arathell, please," he begged once more, clearly thinking she reacted this way only because she was still truly angry with him.

"I forgive you," she murmured with a firm nod. "I believe your apology and I believe your sincerity. I am quite sure that Frodo will see it that way as well."

"But…" he trailed off, also rising to his feet. "Arathell, I do love you."

"Do not say that!" she begged, tears clogging her throat and making her vision cloudy. "Boromir, please. I care for you. I swear by my blood that I care for you. I have been your friend since the beginning of this venture – whether you have seen it this way or not. But… Boromir, I do not love you," she sighed.

He staggered backwards and looked away, touching his forehead. "Aragorn," he assumed.

"I do not even know if I really love him," she mentioned, though she felt her heart skip at the words, not quite acknowledging that the words could be a lie, but smart enough to doubt her them. "I simply know that at this time in my life… I need him. That is not to say that I do not need you, but… oh, why can I not explain it? You are everything that I could ever ask for in my One. You truly are. You are brave and kind and loyal, and I cannot say how lucky I would be if I were to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Stop, Arathell," he sighed. "I know. I have known for a long while, I think. I see how you run to him before considering me. I see how you lean on him for strength. I see how you work together – like two halves of a whole. I have seen how you look at him, like you would follow him into Death if he asked it of you. But further… I see how he does all of this with you. You have always been his first priority and the first he looks for after a battle. He smiles when he sees you smile and laughs when you do. He has always beaten me in the race to cure your hurts. You mean everything to him and I can see that. I do believe that if there were any in this world who could truly deserve a beautiful creature like you… it would be him."

She wept now at his words and walked to embrace him, holding him tightly. "I wish I could love you," she whispered, "only so that you would not have to feel this pain."

"I already told you, Arathell," he said with a boyish grin that only made her insides hurt more at the pain he was trying so desperately to hide from her. "I believe that if you do not love me, then there is someone else waiting for me who will. I believe that if you do not love me then I was never meant to love you. There is someone else. I simply must find her."

Arathell laughed half-heartedly and wiped her eyes before placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. "You will find her. I promise you, you will find her – even if I have to chase her down myself and threaten her."

He grinned again and touched her cheek. "Aragorn is a lucky Man. Having your affection means more than any affection in the world." She nearly started crying again but he shook his head and wiped a stray tear. "Find Frodo. Tell him that I am sorry and that I will be waiting by the camp to speak with him in person about my wrongdoings. Please tell him that I could not be more apologetic and guilty than I am now."

She nodded and pulled far from him, holding his hand until the last possible moment. Darkness fell over her soul when she walked deeper into the forest. She disregarded all of the ruins and focused, trying to dismiss the feeling in her belly. She knew that it wouldn't work, but she tried anyway.

He was so…understanding. He had been the Boromir she had first met. She had nearly forgotten the kind of Man that he could be, and she cursed herself for it. Clearly he was able to come back, and she had done nothing but watch with her hand in Aragorn's. She had been fighting feelings for the Ranger, giving in to them and only then remembering the light that Boromir could provide.

She knew that despite Boromir's restored mind, she still wanted Aragorn. Aragorn was always there, ready to catch her if she fell but ready to defend her the moment she called for him. He loved her in a way that was reminiscent of how her parents and her grandparents loved one another.

But despite the giddy feelings she had had in the boat, she was unsure of how much she cared for Aragorn. Her feelings were true and she knew that he was most likely her One, but admitting that to herself was difficult. She may have thought so in the boat, but the emotions had run away with her then, leaving her to these confusing thoughts now.

Long had she preached to Kara that it was important to know who you were before giving away a piece of yourself to someone who may not have you any other way. She valued independence and the ability to be alone should the situation call for it. Not to mention the fact that she had been alone for so long that it seemed almost a dream to think that she no longer had to be. She was almost afraid of what that meant – to rely that heavily on another human being. She already relied so much on Aragorn; could she really give him the remaining pieces of herself? Could she trust him with those broken pieces?

Arathell shook her head and threw a glance back to where Boromir had been standing. He was gone now – most likely trying to get back to camp. If what he told her was true, then Arathell Duvainith was not going to stop until she found him his One. Boromir was a good Man, and he deserved every happiness, and she knew from her brief experience that the happiness he could give a woman was unequaled. She would be a lucky woman indeed. Arathell was going to find her for Boromir's sake. She was going to make him happy, even if she couldn't do it with her own heart. He would be happy.

She came across the ruins of Amon Hen and stopped for a moment to see Aragorn kneeling before Frodo. Aragorn's back stiffened, most likely feeling her presence. Arathell stepped out to join them and saw that Aragorn panted, turning his gaze away Frodo's outstretched fist. She could only hazard a guess as to what he held. "Aragorn?" she asked nervously.

"I will not take it," he breathed and then looked back to Frodo. "You must go."

"What?" Arathell demanded. "No – what is going on?"

"I cannot stay," Frodo explained, rushed and in a way that brought her no comfort. "This task is my own, and I will not be able to succeed with you all beside me, no matter how much it would comfort my heart. The Ring has taken Boromir and I will not allow it to take anyone else." Arathell began to shake her head to disagree, but Aragorn leapt to his feet and pulled out his sword.

She cast a glance down to see a faint blue trickle erupt from his sheath. "Go, Frodo," Aragorn breathed.

Frodo hastily withdrew a piece of Sting and looked up at them, afraid. Arathell could only nod quickly and withdraw Ristor.

"Run," Aragorn commanded, already turning away. "Run!" he yelled again when the Hobbit did not move.

Arathell too was frozen to the ground. She grabbed hold of the Hobbit and held him tight for the shortest of moments before throwing him away from her. "Leave, Frodo. You will not be followed," she told him. All thoughts of Boromir's apology fell from her thoughts as the impending doom came upon them. All she could think of was surviving and ensuring Frodo's safety. That was all that mattered.

Frodo tore off into oblivion then and she turned to stand with Aragorn, seeing a whole army of Orcs, white hands emblazoned on every scrap of exposed skin. "Will he live?" she choked out as the two of them stared down the monsters.

"We will ensure it," he growled before throwing himself into the throng of blackened limbs. Her arm waved in great circles around herself and she felt it connect with sturdy armor – a trait she had never known Orcs to have. She gazed into the eyes of her attacker and pulled her blade around again to slice at its side. The smell of blood filled her nose instantly and she kept fighting. Their swords clashed against hers but she was quicker than these beasts. An arm wrapped around her middle, but she threw her elbow back into its face before throwing herself behind its disoriented eyes to break its neck. She threw the corpse forward into one of its own, knocking it to the ground. Dodging from the slicing blade of another, she took hold of one of her daggers in her boot, kicking backwards into the face of the attacker while stabbing down at the fallen Orc.

She looked around to see Aragorn at the top of the stairs in the lookout, taking Orcs one by one as they charged up the stairs. Bodies fell from the sides of the watchtower and she gave a dirty smirk before jumping back into the battle with a scream.

Arathell could not tell where the mass of filth ended, but she knew that these numbers were becoming too great to control. She and Aragorn could not forever hold off the doom that was reaching for them. She was frightened beyond measure that the two of them could not contain them and that they would somehow reach Frodo. Aragorn must have also sensed this possibility as he leapt from his high position onto a group of Orcs at her side with a cry of Elendil on his lips.

Legolas and Gimli jumped into mass and only then did her mind go blank. Where was Boromir? Why was he not with them? And the Hobbits – where were they? "Did you see the others?" she yelled in Sindarin over the battle cries, sidling herself next to Legolas as they worked in harmony with perfectly timed strikes and shootings.

"I thought they were with you!" he yelled back, slithering under her sword arm low to fire an arrow at an attacker coming their way. "Aragorn, go!" Legolas yelled to the Ranger. She charged on after him, coming to another set of ruins and trying to use the pillars of stone for any advantage she could think of. Legolas and Gimli soon joined them there, with Gimli growling loud. When the last remaining Orc around them was shot by Legolas, she panted before hearing a loud horn beckoning her. "The horn of Gondor," Legolas deemed it.

"Boromir," Aragorn agreed, taking off into a run after the sound. She desperately wished to follow him and she traded a quick look with Legolas who gave her a quick nod.

Arathell tore off after him, running after the stray Orcs and attacking without some of them even realizing her presence until it was too late to do anything. The sounds of clanging swords caught some of their attention however and she was soon stopped in her tracks to spin in crazed twirls, staying low to the ground and amputating legs when she was able. The armor they wore seemed to be heavy, not allowing their hips to bend enough to defend her swings properly.

The horn blared again and she cried out, afraid that she would not reach him in time. She began running through the Orcs, swinging her blade in haphazard directions, not even caring if Ristor reached its target or not. The only thing that mattered was getting to Boromir.

A feisty kick caught her off guard and sent her tumbling down the hill. She gasped as her breath was stolen away and saw another Orc charging for her with a greedy look on its face. As the sword was raised above her head, she rolled to the side and threw her legs high into the air, around its lowered neck. It roared with anger, but she threw herself high onto its shoulders and slit its throat with her dagger. She could only keep running when her feet hit the ground again.

More the horn cried and she was beyond desperate. But the Orcs seemed to breed just in front of her, preventing her from making any progress towards him. She fought hard, seeing Aragorn out of the corner of her eye doing just the same.

The herd began to thin and she ran forward, running, running, running.

"Boromir!" she screamed into the distance. Another throng came at her, numbering some twenty and she wanted to cry. She had not heard his horn and realized only now how his horn was the only proof she had to him still being alive. Aragorn broke through his group of soldiers and ran on, leaving her there. She was grateful for that, knowing that she was fully able to defeat the beasts on her own. Boromir needed them.

With all twenty lying dead at her feet, she took off running again, only to see Aragorn battling an Orc of greater size than all of the others. The way it was decorated clearly indicated its status amongst them, with war paint marking its blood red face and feral eyes that were yellow like a cat's.

She could not see Boromir.

Ignoring the battle, she ran and choked on a sob when she saw the broken Man fallen against a tree. She crashed down in front of him and witnessed countless arrows protruding from his front. One was embedded deep into his shoulder, one in his gut, and the other sneaking through the protective rib cage in search of his heart. But there were more… so many more…"Boromir," she cried, touching his face as gently as she could.

"Melda," he coughed, blood oozing from the corners of his mouth. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, you can't be sorry! Not yet! Frodo needs to hear you."

"Have you told him of my guilt?" he choked. She shook her head. "Then you must tell him." Aragorn fell beside her. "They took the little ones," Boromir hastily told him. Arathell's heart fell further into her stomach and she felt like vomiting. She could never remember a fear like this before.

"Stay still," Aragorn commanded.

"I can heal you," she told him, reaching for Rhetar around her throat and calling for her gift. Her hand fell to his wounds, hoping and praying. For a moment, they all waited, Boromir's breathing becoming more and more labored. "Why is this not working?" she screamed. "It has to work! It must!"  
"Arathell!" Boromir yelled. "Frodo, where is Frodo?"

"I let Frodo go," Aragorn answered.

"Then you did what I could not." Boromir's hand reached for her throat, touching her skin gently. Arathell could only weep, taking his hand further to let him touch the stray hairs around her. His eyes widened at the significance of the moment, but she shook her head, dismissing his surprise. She held his hand in place, never letting it fall. "I tried to take the Ring from him."

"The Ring is beyond our reach now," Aragorn soothed while she could only cry. Why was her gift not working?! Were her emotions not great enough? Why could she not save him? Her heart burned in her chest and she did not know what to do. Everything was hurting, but if there was a way for her to take Boromir's pain for her own, she would do it immediately.

"Forgive me," he begged. "I did not see. I have failed you all."

She vigorously shook her head. "No, Boromir," Aragorn disagreed softly. "You fought bravely. You kept your honor." She saw Aragorn reach for the arrows, and her breath hitched.

"Leave it," Boromir snapped, pulling his hand from her hair at last to snatch away Aragorn's help. "It is over." She stared at his face, only seeing it become paler by the moment and the color scared her. She wanted to look away, but her eyes were drawn to his face, watching as the life was slowly extinguished from those once sparkling eyes. How she wanted to see them glow. She had promised him! She promised she would find him the Woman to make his eyes glow! "The world of Men will fall," he bereaved. "And all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin," he cried, shaking in his place, afraid.

"Boromir," she cried again, though he did not look at her, staring straight ahead at Aragorn with a burning plea in his eyes.

"I do not know what strength is in my blood," Aragorn told him stoutly and she cast a glance now at the Ranger, almost afraid to hear the words he was going to speak. "But I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail." He added the last words deliberately and she saw a look of relief on Boromir's face. He looked at peace. It was then that she realized she had never been graced with such a face before, even when he had been happy with her. He was at peace with dying.

"Our people," he confirmed and Aragorn nodded from beside her. Boromir reached for her hand and she let him take it. His pushed his lips against her bruised and battered knuckles and more tears fell from her eyes. She watched as her hand was passed from Boromir's into Aragorn's. "Our people," he said again, now looking at her. "They are yours too now."

"Boromir, you can't leave," she cried. "Your love, she is waiting for you, and I promised that I would find her. Do not make me break that promise! You cannot leave! Don't leave!" Aragorn had already helped Boromir situate his sword against his chest. "No, no, no, he is not going to die! He will live; you will see! I can save him! I am going to save him!"

"Arathell," Aragorn sighed. "He is gone." He leaned over Boromir and stared into the now blank eyes. "Be at peace, son of Gondor," he soothed but she could not bear it. Her body hurt and her heart hurt even more. His arm wound its way around her body but she snapped away, releasing his hand which she realized she had been squeezing fiercely.

She went to the body of the Orc Aragorn had killed and hacked with all of her might at the body. Blood spurted from its dead pores in a last effort and she could feel it stain her skin, but she could not care. Arms wound themselves tightly around her middle and held her. She knew that it was Aragorn but she did not want to be touched. She tried to jerk herself free of him but he only held tighter. "Why didn't it work?" she cried to the sky, still bright and blue, like nothing had happened.

"He was at peace, Arathell," Aragorn cooed into her ear but it only hurt her more. "He is at peace. His mind was his own when he passed and he was able to apologize for any hurts. He died the Man you knew he always was. That has to be enough."

"I promised him that he would find love," she cried again. "I told him that he could be happy with someone. He said he thought you deserved me, like I was some magnificent prize. He was more perfect and understanding than I could have ever dreamed – he can't just die! I'm not ready for him to die!"

"He was relieved, Arathell. He probably is more free than he has ever been before in his life. We should be happy for him."

"I don't want to be happy! I want him here!"

"Arathell!" Legolas shouted and she looked up at the Elf, stunned into silence. "Frodo and Sam," he uttered and she reluctantly nodded. With another push at Aragorn's arms, he finally released her and she walked back to Boromir, touching his face and softly closing his eyes.

"We cannot leave him here," she demanded, looking sternly at Aragorn who nodded quickly and went to pick him up in his arms. He was gentle and Arathell stayed by his side the entire way back to the camp. "Put him in a boat," she croaked, feeling her walls climb high to blanket and hide her emotions. Aragorn again did so without a word of disagreement. She swallowed and bent over him, carefully pulling each of the arrows free with a sound of flesh crying out one last time at the pain the weapons inflicted. With all of them removed she made to push the boat into the water, but Aragorn stopped her for a moment.

She watched him take the braces from Boromir, placing them around his own arms, White Tree of Gondor standing weakened but proud. She noticed he had put a tourniquet around his upper arm for a wound she hadn't even seen until now. She then reached for Boromir's gloves, remembering once how much she hated the velvety texture of them. She pocketed them in her garb and rearranged his hands to hold the sword like a true soldier would. Again, she went to give him the final push into the water but she froze and shook, afraid to say that final goodbye.

Aragorn and Legolas' hands fell each on one of hers and helped her give that final push. She saw the boat float into the water, and her breathing accelerated when she watched it get closer and closer to the falls before falling completely. Boromir, son of Denethor, son of Gondor… one of Middle Earth's finest Men… was gone – just like that…a memory.

Legolas then ran to the other boat – the last remaining one. "Hurry. Frodo and Sam have reached the Eastern shore." She glanced into the distance and saw their green cloaks billowing as they moved. Sam was with him. It brought her little comfort, but it was still comfort regardless. Frodo was never alone. "You mean not to follow them," he assumed and she looked back to the Elf who was staring at both her and Aragorn curiously.

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," Aragorn explained, weary.

"Then it has all been in vain," Gimli growled. "The Fellowship has failed."

She slowly walked to Aragorn, afraid to look at him. His hand fell on her shoulder and she tried her hardest to not push him away. She needed him now more than she had ever, but she could not have him now. She may need him, but she most certainly did not want him. She was afraid of what would happen next. She was guilty for not fighting harder for Boromir's sanity when it was so clearly accessible. Frodo had managed to reawaken the Man she remembered and she had been unable to do so. What was wrong with her? She was afraid to show Aragorn any affection, lest the Enemy take _him_ from her. And the guilt she felt for being with Aragorn in the first place when Boromir loved her was too great for her. She could not change her feelings for the Ranger, but she wished more than anything at that moment that she could. She wished that she could have been with Boromir instead and have saved him and loved him. Because Boromir loved her. Why could she never love those who professed to love her? Lindir, Glorfindel, Arwen… now Boromir – all she had abandoned. "Not if we hold true to one each other," Aragorn said, drawing her from her thoughts. She felt him look at her but she still could not bear to meet his gaze. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left." He moved away from them then and she heard him sheath his dagger. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some Orc."

She looked up at Legolas and saw him nod at her. "Yes!" Gimli cried excitedly and took off running after Aragorn through the trees.

"Mellon, I may need you for this journey," she told Legolas as they began running.

"Aragorn –"

"Please, Legolas," she begged.

Legolas gave her a strange look out of the corner of his eye. "You will have me whenever you call for me, Arathell. You know that."

She nodded and ran on ahead, the wind smashing her eyes enough to make tears pop into her eyes. Then again, she was never sure if they had even left at all.

* * *

 **Well. There we are. The last chapter of Part Three. Next chapter we delve into Part Four. Let me know what you think about Boromir… any thoughts? I couldn't betray Tolkien to the degree of saving Boromir. It was time.**

 **Please check out the music! Dedicated for Boromir today. One of my most favorite songs.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	52. Chapter 52

**Hi everyone… so… I guess we are finally in Two Towers.** _Welcome to Part Four_ **, and thanks for sticking it out this long with me. We've still got a ways to go, so continue sticking around!**

 **Didn't get as many reviews for Boromir's death as I was expecting, but I'll just say that the grief prevented you from writing one. Haha hopefully I'll get to hear from you for this chapter.**

 **I will say one thing before we begin: PLEASE TRUST ME. I'm not going to say why, but you guys are smart… I'm sure you'll figure it out.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Four – We Don't Need

New Way Out - Tremonti

"Chasing the memories of our past  
These are the moments that we hold  
But they fail to last  
Decided I'm leaving, leaving now  
But how?  
Can we find nowhere to go?  
And are we lost?  
Lost?"

* * *

 **February 28, 3019 – Unknown Location**

Arathell didn't bother to keep track of how long they were running. She knew that her muscles ached and she knew that her lungs hurt with every gasp she made, but she had learned long ago how to ignore such things. Furthermore, all she could really think about was that she was _privileged_ enough to feel such pain. Her heart was still beating and her limbs were still moving. The same could not be said for Boromir.

It hurt to think about him, and though it had only been three days, she wished desperately that the hurt would go away. There were so many things that she needed to be focusing on – how to get Merry and Pippin back for example – and all she could think about was how sorry Boromir was in his dying moment, fighting for every ounce of respect and trust that he had lost on this venture. She was terrified that he had gone to his watery grave with such thoughts on his mind – if he had done enough, if he just could have spoken with Frodo, if he could have had her back, if he could ever have love at all…

Dying was never something that she herself had been afraid of. She knew that when her time came, she would gladly go, having seen enough misery in her Middle Earth to last anyone for longer than just the millennia she had been there. The things she had seen had scared her in ways that she would never admit to anyone. The hurts that she had experienced were hurts that were caused either by the tumults of war, or even hurts inflicted upon her by her own family. Either way, she was ready to die.

But Boromir was young and high-spirited. Despite having seen the darkness grow outside his bedroom window, he had remained pure of heart, fighting that darkness until his heart and mind could fight no longer. It wasn't until he perceived himself safe from the doom that the Ring was shown to him, and it had taken him instantly, like a fly caught in a web.

He didn't deserve to die. She should have been the one to take the arrows so that he could live and find the woman who would truly make him happy, because she was incapable of doing so.

Aragorn had noticed her silence, but she was confident that he believed that she was only grieving for the loss of a friend. It had only been three days, and Arathell felt like she had been living with this pain for years.

They paused on the high rocks, close to the borders of Rohan, she imagined. She had always admired the country, finding its people built of mental strength that was found nowhere else in the world. They lived in poverty for the most part and had climbed through the gutters to make respectable names for themselves. Even the higher, richer people of Gondor could never deny Rohan's horses and their breeding.

She watched Aragorn fall to the ground, placing his ear tenderly against the rocks, sensing the presence of the quickly moving Orcs. It still greatly surprised her that they were able to cover such speed in the light, and she was beginning to have a suspicion that these Orcs may not have been from Mordor. Isengard was close now.

"How are you feeling?" Legolas asked quietly beside her. She cast a glance backward to see Gimli in the distance still fighting to catch up to them. Aragorn was too focused on the ground to pay the two of them any mind. Arathell gave him a dry look, not answering the question. He sighed. "Do you still have any sense of foreboding?"

She blinked hard, having not even noticed that the fear in her gut had subsided the moment Boromir had passed on. "I do not believe so," she replied tersely.

Legolas nodded. "I am glad to hear that we agree on this."

"Their pace has quickened," she heard Aragorn murmur before sitting up and climbing back to his feet. "They must have caught our scent. Hurry!" he barked at them all and she took off running after him at once, feeling the heated burn return to her legs. The constant motion almost helped. It took her mind off of the burn in her heart.

"Come on, Gimli," Legolas called, waiting only slightly for the Dwarf to catch him breath.

They ran for hours and when they finally slowed, she noticed Aragorn picking something up from the ground – the brooch that had clasped one of the Hobbits' cloaks together. "Not idly do the leaves of Lothlórien fall," Aragorn commented, showing them both the brooch.

"They may yet be alive," Legolas breathed, moving forward again.

She gave a hum of agreement. Aragorn took her arm for a moment, but she pulled it free to stand up beside Legolas, looking out at the plains ahead of them. They had tarried long with the mountains to their right, but now it was time to delve deep into the rolling country ahead of them.

"Less than a day ahead of us," Aragorn told them, but she could hear the discomfort in his voice. She knew that he was beginning to doubt her grief, but she would not approach him first. "Come," he continued and she heard the heavy clanking and banging of metal behind her as Gimli elected to roll down the mountain side instead of running – or maybe he had fallen; she was not sure.

"Come, Gimli!" Legolas shouted to the Dwarf. "We are gaining on them!"

"I'm wasted on cross country!" she heard him yell from behind. "We Dwarves are natural sprinters – very dangerous over short distances!" Somehow, she could not even smile.

They paused once more when a larger break in the piled rock. "Rohan," Aragorn mused. Again she hummed. This was where the Hobbits were. Despite all of her constant pain for Boromir and his parting, she knew with every fiber of her being that she was not about to allow the two Hobbits to endure that kind of fate. They deserved better and if she could not give Boromir that love, she would at least fight for Merry and Pippin's lives. She only prayed she would arrive in time, unlike before… "Home of the Horse Lords. There's something strange at work here," he continued. "Some evil gives speed to these creatures – sets its will against us." Legolas charged forward, looking stunned and when she stared further out into the distant, a black mob of evil was caught in her vision. Their bodies looked so small from this distance, as if she could crush them under her shoe like an ant. How was it that these small things took Boromir away? "Legolas, what do your Elf eyes see?" Aragorn called.

"The Uruks turn northeast," he replied. "There're taking the Hobbits to Isengard!"

"Saruman," Aragorn assumed.

"He knows that one of the Hobbits has the Ring," she said dully.

"We must catch them before they reach Isengard. Once Saruman learns that neither of them has it, their purpose will have ended and they will be killed. We must be quick."

"Best to not tarry here any longer then," she surmised and then charged after Legolas, leaving Aragorn behind to run after her.

She knew that she was hurting him with her silence, but she knew that at this time, there was nothing left within her to give other than such a silence. He would not have liked to hear her true thoughts at present and how much she was truly doubting the relationship she could potentially have with him.

Arathell wanted him of course, but she was afraid of the future and what it could do to her. She told herself that she did not already love Aragorn and therefore was not at such a risk of heartbreak should she lose him. But somewhere deep inside of Arathell, she knew that that was not true. She knew on some level of her conscience that she did love him. But she would never admit it to him. It could only hurt her more and after Boromir… she did not want to hurt anymore.

Aragorn thought she wasn't selfish. Maybe it was time to prove to him just how selfish she could be.

* * *

 **February 29, 3019 – Rohan**

They ran for the duration of the day, just as they had for the past three nights. She could recall sometime on the second day her body no longer truly recognizing fatigue. Her system flared and fought, helping her ignore any shred of pain that her limbs were trying to convey to her.

"They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them," she heard Legolas pant as the day was starting to come to a close.

Arathell continued to run, focusing on the black mass that was in the distance, feeling that hatred from three days before still flaming in her stomach. She would kill them all, even if that meant leaving the others behind. She would kill them all.

As the night settled in, their strides were still just as quick and eager on the ground beneath their feet. "They are stopping!" she yelled when the black mass finally collapsed in front of the Forest.

"We should stop too!" Gimli panted as they took a pause.

"No, we cannot stop," Aragorn dismissed. "Not yet. Now is our time to close the distance between us and them. If we stop now, they maintain their lead and get closer to Isengard."

Arathell shook her head and threw her head to the stars. "If we do not pause for at least a little while, we will not have any strength when we do come upon them and we will all be killed – including Merry and Pippin, I'm sure. We must play this strategically."

"But they could start again without a warning," Legolas reminded.

She ground her teeth and looked on at the black mass that was harder to see with the nighttime setting in. She finally gave a harsh nod and began running once more, hearing the others charge after her.

* * *

 **March 1, 3019 – Rohan**

As the sun began to rise from behind her, she saw the pinks and reds illuminated in the sky. She heard Legolas pause behind her to remark on such a sunrise and what it could possibly mean. Blood was spilt. Whose blood it was that now seeped into the earth was a mystery, but she felt her heart clench at who the candidates were. She lost Boromir and Gandalf – must she lose Merry and Pippin? She did not think she could bear it.

They stopped again in a small valley, waiting for Aragorn to inspect the area. Just as he began to bend low over the ground, a shrill whistle was heard over the hill. They all froze, having not heard a sound but their own breath for days.

Aragorn swept his arm across in a large gesture and they ran for cover in the rocks to the side of the small valley. The ground quaked from underneath her feet at the approach of whatever was coming. She gripped the rock beside her tightly, wondering if she truly would have the strength to fight whatever malice had caught them. And for a flicker of time, she even wondered if she wanted that strength at all. Just as Gimli dropped into the haven, a flood of horses sprouted into their vision, all bearing the colors of Rohan. She heaved a sigh of relief and looked at Aragorn.

They gave a swift nod to one another before he stood from their hiding spot. "Riders of Rohan," he called loudly. "What news from the Mark?"

The leader at the front thrust his spear to the side and all of the horses turned back to the four of them. Before long, all of the riders surrounded them and she hastily swept on her face of nobility, arching her head high, waiting to be challenged by the horse lord.

The leader broke through the ranks, long horse hair dwindling from the top of his helmet. "What business do a Man, Elves and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?" he asked. "Speak quickly." She stoutly held her tongue.

"Give me your name, Horse Master, and I shall give you mine," Gimli said with perhaps too much of a flare for arrogance. The Man on the horse looked severely displeased by the retort and moved to jump to the ground. Aragorn's hand quickly fell to Gimli, as if trying to calm the situation.

The Man's stance was predatory as he looked at them and his eyes fell on her for a moment before looking back down to the Dwarf. "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," he threatened in a low voice.

Legolas' bow was strung before she could blink, pointed at the Man. "You would die before your stroke fell," he growled back.

Aragorn's hand then moved to Legolas, lowering the weapon. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he started carefully. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm." He then gestured to her. "And this is Arathell Duvainith, daughter of Lord of Elrond of Rivendell. She is often known as Shadow."

The Men stiffened around her once they heard the name. She did her best to appear softer so as to not frighten away any information that the riders could have. "This is Shadow?" the Man asked, looking at her again.

Arathell could not help but bow mockingly. "And she is capable of using her tongue," she rounded off. "I am Arathell," she reiterated.

"We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your King," Aragorn interjected, clearly recognizing that now she was not willing to quarrel with a petty Man, regardless of what his station truly was. She had quite had her fill of Men to last for a good long while.

The Man looked gentler now when he heard the words and began removing the helmet, "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe – not even his own kin," he sighed, revealing long dirty blond hair that swept haphazardly across his sweaty face. No doubt, to the Women of Rohan, he was a handsome being and even Arathell could concede the point. Unfortunately, Aragorn was ever-present and despite all of her tumultuous thoughts about her life, Aragorn would always be the one she would choose.

The Men raised their spears away from them and she finally released a breath that she hadn't realized she had even been holding. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over these lands," he explained. "My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished." He stepped closer to them, and she immediately saw the anger that burned in his eyes when he spoke of Saruman and his treachery. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man – hooded and cloaked." His eyes fell on her, evaluating and raking her form with his molten gaze. She did not recoil, glaring fiercely at him. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."  
"We are no spies," Aragorn interrupted, and the Man's eyes finally fell from her to look back at Aragorn. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed – we slaughtered them in the night," the Man informed.

Her heart stopped in her chest at the words, but she fought desperately for that mask to remain on her face. "But there were two Hobbits," Gimli rushed, all tones of arrogance gone. "Did you see two Hobbits with them?"

"They would be small," Aragorn explained. "Only children to your eyes."

She waited with baited breath and found herself reaching for Aragorn's sleeve, as if this would prevent her from falling. "We left none alive," the Man said quietly. "We piled the carcasses and burned them." She looked to where his gestured, seeing a pillar of smoke climb into the morning sky.

A sob escaped her throat as her other hand reached to clasp her mouth, stifling the sound. "Dead?" Gimli croaked, but the words were no longer registering in her mind. She was reminded again of Boromir and how despite his valiant, sacrificing efforts to save the two of them, they had perished anyway, at the hands of those who would not have been considered good.

Her body nearly gave out on her, all of the running seeming to have caught up all at once. She wanted to die. Everything in her screamed at how incapable she was at keeping her promises to those she loved. She told herself in Moria that she would not leave anyone – that she _refused_ to leave anyone. And now, she had left four out of the nine and everything burned.

The horses were suddenly racing away, off to fight some new devilry, and she saw two horses standing in front of them, waiting quietly. "Come, Arathell," she heard in a muffled voice, but she followed it still, finding herself on the back of the brown stallion, arms wrapped around someone.

The animal moved under her, taking her to a place, she would rather have never seen.

A pile of carcasses bloomed in her vision and she gasped, nearly wanting to throw herself from the horse and run in the other direction away from this horrid place.

The head of one of the foul beasts was speared onto a pike, its face deformed now and disfigured. Smoke rose from the pile, making their blood burn that much more in her nose. She could still smell the deaths of these monsters. She saw Gimli lightly search through the debris, lifting one of the silver belts her grandmother had given to them. "It's one of their wee belts," he commented. She looked away.

Legolas prayed over the pile, calm and collected. It infuriated her so much she wanted to push him into the still hot embers, just to see if he really could stay as calm in _that_ situation. Why did everything hurt? She wanted to him to hurt like she was hurting, so that he could understand death the way she did. He never was around Men enough to know what it was like to watch comrades fall around you like flies in the middle of winter. He had not seen death like she had, so why wasn't he reacting? Why couldn't he just act… why couldn't he just act like he had a heart?!

A scream pierced the grave silence and she jumped, turning to see Aragorn kneeling on the ground. Without even thinking, she dropped down beside him and took hold of his hand. He squeezed it so tightly, she was sure that her fingers were going to break under the pressure, but then she realized that her hold over him was just as great, if not greater on him. "We failed them," Gimli choked.

Another sob was coaxed out of her and she looked up to the sun, willing the tears away. She wanted to be strong. She did not want to cry anymore, but the tears didn't seem to care. The rage and hurt in her heart was too great to truly ignore and she was left broken and afraid, all chances of happiness eradicated from her future in that one instant. Because how could anyone be happy without those two precious souls in the world? How could they be gone – nothing more than a memory?

"A Hobbit lay here," she heard him murmur beside her. Her eyes snapped down to the ground, inspecting the area he was. He rolled over onto his knees, looking deeply at the earth. A part of her urged him to continue, but the other wanted more than anything for him to stop. She was not sure she wanted the answer to this riddle. "And the other," he remarked and she stared harder at the dirt, faintly seeing the two body prints of what appeared to be children. At least they were together. She could not bear the thought that they had been apart. Aragorn leaned back, evaluating even more, the pain erased from his face to be replaced by one of confusion instead.

A flutter of curiosity leapt into her heart at the sight, wondering perhaps… "They crawled," Aragorn continued, going after tracks that had now become impossible for her to distinguish. "Their hands were bound." His hands touched the trails before he stood, following their last footsteps. She wrung her hands in front of her, walking directly behind him. He knelt down once more and produced a long piece of rope, the ends frayed. "Their bonds were cut," he replied, amazed.

The curiosity had spread now, becoming a tiny flicker of what _could_ be interpreted as hope within her. And it was a hope she was willing to follow. His steps were hurried now, anxious with the little Hobbit feet. "They ran over here." Their steps were random and fearful, no doubt from the number of horses that had to have been there. "They were followed," he murmured and the hope died in her chest, but she remained silent, praying beyond hope now for a miracle.

Aragorn ran further away from the pile of corpses and she followed, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Their tracks lead away from the battle," he yelled and then suddenly stopped.

"Into Fangorn Forest?" she remarked when the sudden tree line captured her vision. Green as far as she could see within, and a shred of something more that made a shiver run down her spine.

"Fangorn?" Gimli breathed. "What business drove them in there?"

"It is logical," Legolas reminded, still sounding as cool and as calm as a lake in the summer. "They would be able to hide under the cover of the trees and Hobbits can be very difficult to catch when they do not wish to be found."

"But they do not know of the other horrors that lie within this forest," she retorted. "There are stories of these trees that would send any Hobbit's heart into a panic."

"They are safer here than they were before," Aragorn answered before taking a step into the darkness.

Her hand snapped out to grab him instantly. "What hope do we have that we can even track them in such a dense wood?" she demanded. "It is fell inside, and we may only be putting ourselves in more danger and will be unable to rescue them at all!"

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Aragorn snapped. She stuttered for a moment and released him. "There may be no hope for us inside, but there is nothing beneficial that we can do from the borders of Fangorn. We cannot cure ills of a King and we have not the strength to do much else." He paused. "They are our friends. And they need us. The brooch one of them dropped clearly states that they wish to be found. You would truly consider abandoning them to the Wild?"

Arathell sighed. "How do we even know if they are alive?" she whispered.

"We can only hope," Aragorn replied just as gently. He met her gaze and just as before when she had been crouched low in Rivendell and when she had been between his arms against that fateful rock on the river, she felt his strength. His peace poured into her from that look, as she knew it was meant to.

Arathell nodded in agreement and walked to the back of their group with her eyes focused solely on their leader. He had agreed to become the King of Gondor. It had been a feat that she had never expected to happen, after how long he had been rejecting the offer. But since Boromir's death, he had only become stronger in his resolve and she could see it now in the way that he treated her – not quite like a subject, but definitely someone he knew he needed to lead. She was unsure of this, but she could not disagree with his reasoning.

What made it hard for her was his ability to still impart such comfort into her soul. Even after everything that had happened on this venture, somehow he found a way to ease her worries and her hurts. It was to be expected, with their deeply rooted connection on both an amiable and romantic level. Despite wanting to pull away from him, he was still her partner, and she knew well enough by now that he was her One.

She tried to deny it as best as she could, telling herself that it was wrong with Boromir only being recently departed and the feelings she had had for him were surely real. She felt guilty for Boromir's death, not being able to heal him before and at his time of death. And now, every time she looked at Aragorn, she could only see him taking Boromir's place there, lying under that tree, many arrows piercing the Ranger's bloodied body. Bile crawled up her throat every time to picture appeared in her mind.

And in her heart, she was now beginning to see that any love he bore for her would only turn sour and darken him with age. Aragorn was pure and warm and hopeful while she was the exact opposite. True, they balanced one another well. And true, she could only benefit from being with him. But she knew that her darkness would drain him. His heart would twist and his love would grow into hatred of all things and he would resent her eventually. He deserved better than her; she knew that from the start. But she was faced with that reality even more now, unable to let go of Boromir to be with Aragorn in the way he needed her.

He had waited so long for her, and he deserved so much more than what she could offer. A King of Gondor could not love someone like her. He could claim to and believe it as much as he desired but she knew better. He may be middle-aged for his race, but he was not wise yet – not in matters of the heart. Aragorn could not love her like he believed he did. In fact, she was sure that if he were to meet another maiden, he would know instantly that Arathell was never the one he should have committed himself to.

So she would let Aragorn go, because he deserved more than her, because she could only break him, because she felt guilty for Boromir, and because she loved the Ranger enough to know that this is what he truly needed. Needed – not wanted. He would hate her for this decision for now, but she knew that he would be better for it. It was as he said: if she was being too stubborn to say what she needed, then he would do it for her. Now, she would do the same for him, whether he thanked her for it or not.

Arathell tried hard not to focus on Aragorn after resolutely making the decision. Despite knowing that this was truly what was best for his happiness, it also destroyed her. She loved him and she was giving him away.

Her eyes stayed trained to the ground, dedicated to find the two Hobbits. She really did not know how much hope she had for finding them, but she knew better than to give up on them entirely. Both had a hand for mischievousness and she could only pray that that streak had not run out.

Gimli spitting violently brought her out of her frame of mind and she looked to the Dwarf in question. "Orc blood," he surmised.

She made a quick glance at Aragorn, who was staring down at the ground and touching the dirt there. "These are strange tracks," he commented.

"The air is so close in here," Gimli remarked gruffly.

She smiled grimly and looked at the surrounding trees. She had felt their souls stir in her heart the moment she walked into these woods. They were angry, but more so – they were tired and worn. There was nothing more that they had been charged with in this world, and she knew from experience that routine such as staying locked away in the confines of what is deemed safe can be more than just boring. It can drive you mad.

"This forest is old," Legolas breathed, no doubt feeling them as well. Having been surrounded by trees from the moment of his birth, she would even make the claim that he felt them more potently than she did. "Very old. Full of memory," he drawled.

"And anger," she added with a side glance, fighting the desire to go to Aragorn to see the tracks he had uncovered since he had yet to identify them. It was making her nervous.

The trees croaked around her in their creaks and cracks and she stared to the tops of them, hearing Gimli grunt in slight fear. Her hand immediately rested on one of the trees, feeling its life course through the palm of her hand. She could practically feel the pain the tree was projecting to her and when she looked more closely at it, she saw a deep gouge in its side, sticky with the cohesive sap.

"The trees are speaking to each other," Legolas explained.

Her hand rested on the gouge, touching the sap. Just like Boromir, the pain did not stop and the wound did not close and heal itself. What good was her gift if she was unable to use it? Why could she do nothing to stop the pain of others? It was what she was charged with, but everywhere she went, she abandoned more pain than cured it.

"Gimli, lower your axe," Aragorn whispered and when she looked to the Dwarf, he was now hiding his weapon fiercely behind his back, staring wide-eyed at the trees.

"They have feelings, my friend," Legolas purred. "The Elves began it: waking up the trees… teaching them to speak." She focused again on the gouge, still feeling the tree's pain. A tear slid from her eye and she forced herself to look away, abandoning yet another hopeless victim to the dooms of the world.

"Talking trees," Gimli surmised. "What do trees have to talk about? Besides the consistency of squirrel droppings?" he ranted and she rolled her eyes, blinking away any other tears that threatened to come into her vision.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood erect and she looked over at Legolas, trading a knowing look with him. "There is something out there, Aragorn," Legolas announced in Sindarin, walking into the darkness she had felt. She could still see him just fine, but the something was wrong. It was familiar to her, but somehow different. It made her afraid and she could not help but slowly walk up to him, despite Aragorn also standing with him. She shifted away from him and focused on her senses, reaching out to find that familiar pull again.

"Can you feel it, Arathell?" Aragorn whispered hurriedly. Arathell could only nod, finally settling on at least where this intruder was coming from. "What can you see?" he continued in Sindarin.

* * *

 **One note: In regards to that February 29 up there. Real date in the appendices. I know that it shouldn't be a leap year, but I will not be the one to question Tolkien's genius so… we are going to say that the year 3019 had an extra day in February because Tolkien said so.**

 **I should also say that within this part, some of the dates DO end up being different from the book. Events from the books STILL HAPPEN; they just don't all happen on the days that Tolkien writes that they do. Just a heads up. :)**

 **Any other thoughts regarding the chapter? Kinda rough… we've got some issues up in here… I think a few of your predicted as much so well done each of you! We'll see how long this lasts…**

 **Check out the music! This one is super pretty! And another one of my personal favorites! And leave a review please!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	53. Chapter 53

**Hello there, my lovelies! Thank you all for your reviews! I'm sorry that things aren't quite going in the happy direction that we were hoping for, but as I have said before, you just have to trust me. And it seems that you all for the most part get where Arathell is coming from with her decisions. If you don't, that's okay too. RainbrowBright333 (Aras ship's First Mate) and I have had a long discussion about it. Hopefully future chapters will clear things up for those of you who are confused. And if not, leave me a PM or a review and I promise to try to clear it up.**

 **I don't believe there is anything else… Let's continue then! PICKS UP RIGHT WHERE LAST CHAPTER LEFT OFF!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Four – We Don't Need

Words Darker Than Their Wings - Alter Bridge

"How could I be wrong?  
I hope there comes a day your fear is gone  
How could we be lost?  
Lost just cease to be, not carry on"

* * *

 _"_ _Can you feel it, Arathell?" Aragorn whispered hurriedly. Arathell could only nod, finally settling on at least where this intruder was coming from. "What can you see?" he continued in Sindarin._

"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas answered, looking to the side. Arathell wanted desperately to disagree, finding that this familiarity was not something she should be afraid of, but nevertheless, she knew that there was only one White Wizard, and the sheer brightness that enveloped her vision could give her no further cause to doubt. Legolas was right: Saruman was coming for them. And as much as she would have liked to kill the bastard, she feared that his powers most likely supplanted her own. She would be nothing more than a piece of meat that would dangle from his treacherous staff.

"Do not let him speak," Aragorn whispered. "He will put a spell on us." She saw his hand go for his sword and she hesitantly let her hand fall on Ristor's hilt. "We must be quick."

Without waiting, they spun around and had a bright white light crowd her vision, blinding her. She threw her sword as she would a spear but saw the weapon bounce off of his brilliant shield, along with Legolas' arrow and Gimli's axe. She saw Aragorn's sword hiss in his palm, glowing a fiery red before he finally had to drop it to the ground. She looked away from the light then, holding her hand high. She had faced devils in her life and she had faced them fearlessly, but she knew this was a battle she could never hope to win. Her morale was defeated and her heart was exhausted, along with her mind. She would welcome death now. She wanted it. She could only pray that Saruman would be quick, though she rather doubted it. He would use her as his plaything, stringing her up and torturing her in whatever way seemed best.

That thought alone brought her back to the present and she dropped her hand and stared back at the white light. She would not cower. She _could_ not cower.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits," he purred in front of her. Saruman's voice sent a chill down her spine, but she did not turn away again.

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded.

"They passed this way – only just yesterday," he answered vaguely. This time her eyes focused harder on the light, wondering why Saruman had not revealed himself yet. His voice had changed somewhere in his answer, and it sounded warm and practically friendly. Where had she heard such a voice? "They met someone they did not expect," he continued, sounding once more like Saruman. "Does that comfort you?" Now he sounded different again.

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked. "Show yourself!" he yelled at the light.

The light disappeared and she gasped loudly once she saw who lay behind the curtain. His hair was white now, long and straight, looking regal. His clothes draped around him smoothly like a waterfall. "No," she murmured, raising her hand to her mouth, stifling her surprise. Tears welled in her eyes and all she wanted was to push away the others and embrace the old man she considered a father.

"It cannot be," Aragorn whispered weakly.

"Forgive me," Legolas pleaded, kneeling down to the ground with Gimli following soon after. She and Aragorn were frozen to the spot, doubting yet hopeful. "I mistook you for Saruman."

"I am Saruman," Gandalf replied stoically and she shook when she heard that warm, gentle voice, thinking that she would have never heard it again. "Or rather Saruman as he should have been," he continued.

"You fell," Aragorn doubted, sounding just as on the verge of tears as she was.

"Through fire," he agreed. "And water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought him – a Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me and I strayed out of thought and time. And stars wheeled overhead. And every day was as long as a life-age of the Earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back… until my task is done."

"Gandalf," Aragorn sighed, walking up to the Wizard now while she simply stood still, fighting to believe that he truly was there in front of her and not just some dream her mind had conjured out of wanting and fear.

"Gandalf?" he asked curiously. "Yes," he drawled, looking deep into a memory with his light blue gaze. "That was what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey: that was my name," he finished proudly and with a smile that was infectious, even with her tears having spilled over the bottoms of her eyes.

"Gandalf," Gimli chirped happily.

"I am Gandalf the White," he claimed. "And I come back to you now," he said, looking at Aragorn, "at the turn of the tide. Come, we must go."

He began walking past them, but her hand reached out and latched onto him, stopping him. Just touching him and feeling the warmth that he exuded made her anxious. Words fought their way from her, but she could not speak. For a moment, they stared at one another like lost friends, fighting to remember the friend they once knew within the changed version. She heard the others slowly creep away, giving them a moment. "I promised myself I wouldn't leave anyone in those caves," she told him, the words clogged in her throat as she continued to fight even more tears. "But I left you there."

Gandalf reached his hand up and patted her face, fingers falling easily into her hair. She didn't even think to push him away, shaking at the touch. "My beautiful girl… have you missed me so?" he remarked.

She nodded fiercely and found herself latched onto him, hugging him closer than she had ever remembered hugging him before. "You have been a father to me more times than I could ever possibly count," she murmured.

"Now, now," he chuckled and pulled her from him to wipe away the stray tears. "I am here with you now," he sighed. "You look far fairer when you do not cry." His hand touched the circlet with a smile. "You have assumed your duties?" he asked and she gave him a sheepish smile. He looked down and saw Rhetar around her neck and he hummed in thought. "We will speak more later. Now, dry your tears. Happy tears though they may be, there is much that we must do and we can delay no further." His voice escalated as he finished before walking back on again with the others dutifully following. "One stage of your journey is over; another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed."

"Edoras?" Gimli exclaimed. "That is no short distance."

"We hear of trouble with Rohan," Aragorn explained. "It goes ill with the King."

"Yes, and it will not be easily cured," Gandalf agreed and she stared at him confused and waiting for him to elaborate.

"Then we have run all this way for nothing," Gimli continued with his rant and she could not help but roll her eyes at his sudden disappointment. "Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested –" His rant was cut off by another bout of growling from the trees and at this she actually chuckled, the first time she had done so in days. "I mean… charming – quite charming forest?" he restated smartly.

"'Twas more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for a many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend," Aragorn remarked and Gandalf cocked his ear to the Ranger. "You still speak in riddles." They both shared a laugh at that and she smiled. The darkness that had settled on her soul did not seem so foreboding now.

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days," Gandalf continued, looking at the trees in wonder while she could still only stare at the Wizard. "The Ents are going to wake up, and find that they are strong," he stated.

"Strong?" Gimli asked again. "Oh, that's good."

"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf," Gandalf muttered. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact they are far safer than you are about to be!" he yelled back as he continued walking, trying to find his way out of the forest. She grinned again and followed them, never letting her eyes stray from Gandalf's back, lest he disappear from her again, which was something that she just could not handle once more.

In the distance, she could see the ends of the trees and with every step, she felt closer to feeling such a burden fall away from her shoulders. Everything ached still and she had not changed her mind regarding Aragorn, but she felt light and more free than she had in days.

"You feel better, don't you?" a voice assumed and instantly her heart constricted at the pain she heard. He knew. He had to know. She did not look at him, only nodding. "Him being back gives me hope." She hummed noncommittally. He walked silently beside her for a long while, neither of them speaking. She could feel the eyes of the others fall on them occasionally, but she kept her gaze focused on the growing light at the end of the trees.

His fingers brushed against hers several times and each time, she had to stifle a shiver from running down her spine. Soon enough, he wouldn't want to touch her this way anymore. He would look at her as he looked at his friends and there would be another who he would hold hands with. And as much as she desired to take his hand in hers and never let go, she knew that it would only hurt her more when she had to forcefully walk away. These last, lingering touches were all she could have now.

"Are you upset with me?" he murmured from beside her and she let out a shuddering breath and shook her head. "You have been too quiet these last days."

She swallowed and buried the love she felt for him and his concern when she gave him a partial glare. She would have to play her emotions perfectly if she was expected to convince him of her supposed indifference. "Boromir is dead," she croaked. "Why would I not be quiet? A good Man who loved me died in my arms and I was incapable of saving him. I apologize if my silence disturbs your mortal desires, Aragorn. I have more on my mind than you," she barked before walking determinedly away from him to walk alongside Gandalf.

"Do you truly believe that was necessary, Arathell?" the Wizard pondered, giving her a look out of the corner of his eye.

"He has always deserved the world, Mithrandir," she sighed. "I could never hope to be enough for him. He deserves more than anything that I could possibly offer him. My darkness would kill him. And that is what I am, is it not? The Beautifully Dark Sister? He should be happy with someone who can be just as happy. And how are you aware of our… relationship?" she drawled.

"He has yearned for you for many years," he noted, clearly deciding to ignore her question. "You do not know what you are asking of him. Since meeting you, he has known that he wanted to be at your side always. You cannot expect him to so quickly turn his attention to one who does not know him when you have been a constant."

"He mistakes safety for love then," she disagreed. "He knows me well, as you claim. So he perceives that I am the safest choice out of the women he has been in contact with."

Gandalf shook his head bitterly but said no more about Aragorn. "You say that Boromir is –"

"Gandalf, please," she whispered, looking down at the ground. "I am well aware that he was not my One and I am aware that I could have never been with him. But that does not mean that his death was less difficult for me to accept. Regardless of what any of you say I know that he was a good Man. He loved me and I abandoned him the moment I thought of Aragorn, maybe before even then. He needed me and I turned away just as a coward would when the task is too great."

"And you do not believe that turning away from Aragorn is cowardly?" Gandalf retorted coyly.

"We were speaking of Boromir."

"It sounded as if you did not want to speak of him either."

"I would rather talk about him than Aragorn."

"Why is that, I wonder?"

Arathell glared fully at the Wizard, remembering now just how ornery he could be and just how stubborn he was when he wanted something done. "Boromir was slain by a pack of Uruk-hai, Saruman's Orcs," Arathell explained briefly. "He… he was trying to save Merry and Pippin. He realized that the Ring had taken him and he fought valiantly against its power. His mind was his own when the Valar took him. He was pierced by too many arrows." Tears clouded her vision when she could picture him fallen in her mind against the tree, blood slowly dripping from his mouth, bright and colorful.

"He is with his fathers," Gandalf soothed. The light at the end had grown larger in this time and when the sun entered her vision at last, she squinted at the harshness of it, but she was happy nevertheless to be out of the forest. Walking out of the dark, fire-breathing caves of Moria without Gandalf beside her was a painting furiously swept over with a new image – an image of light embracing her as she stepped out of a forest with the Wizard at her side. It felt like taking a gasp of air after being submerged underwater for too long.

Despite this weight lifting a little, her most recent conversation with Gandalf had only laid more burdens on her. Clearly, he disapproved of how she treated Aragorn, but she could not bear the thought of accepting the Ranger. He should be happy. Her feelings, no matter deep, did not matter.

"We must go back for our own horses," Aragorn proclaimed. "The Marshall gave us two, but that is still not enough, even when two of our riders are light."

Gandalf conceded the point. "You need not worry about the horses unable to bear their riders. Still, we shall go to collect your beasts before they go back to their masters. It was quite fortunate for you that Lord Éomer had horses to freely give to you."

"Their riders were killed slaughtering the Orc pack this past evening," Aragorn explained.

"Ah, the intervention of Fate then, I presume."

They walked steadily towards the tower of smoke that was miraculously still burning until she bored herself completely with the task. She ran hard ahead of the others, reaching the pile of corpses long before she suspected the others could even see it, except for Legolas, of course. Fortunately, the horses had yet to run off, tethered to the trees where they had entered Fangorn. They had never intended to leave them there, hoping that they would have been able to return back to them hurriedly with Merry and Pippin in tow.

Arathell took the reins of both of them before climbing onto the chocolate stallion. She galloped steadily away, holding on to both sets of reins until she intersected the other three again. She slid off of the horse and patted its nose sweetly. The others gave her a look of amusement, but she shrugged. "I was tired of waiting. If we must ride to Edoras at full speed then it will not do to not have our horses as quickly as possible."

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed before turning around and looking out at the vast open plain. They stood on the top of a small hill and she sighed, feeling the wind brush through her hair which she had not bothered to put back into its braid since Boromir.

Gandalf whistled loudly over the plains and she waited, staring into the distance with confusion for what was to come. When a whinny from a horse drifted into her ears, she stared harder until a brilliant white animal charged forward to them, mane caught in the breeze and flowing like pure starlight.

Her mouth dropped open once she realized just who this animal was and the strength his name alone conveyed. "That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell," Legolas remarked.

It bounded closer to their small Company and her eyes grew with wonder when it finally stopped in front of Gandalf. "Shadowfax," the Wizard greeted and the horse bowed its head in acknowledgment. "He is the lord of all horses. And he has been my friend through many dangers." His patted the animal affectionately.

"He is beautiful," Arathell murmured, walking to its flank and resting her hand tenderly upon his neck. She noticed out of the corner of her eye the others nodding in agreement. "May I ride him with you, Mithrandir?" she suddenly asked, looking hopefully at the Wizard. She had figured that Legolas and Gimli would ride together, leaving her with either Aragorn or the Wizard, and she was slightly unnerved by the prospect of riding with Aragorn. She should be trying to distance herself from him, not force herself to be closer.

"No, he will only bear me," Gandalf disagreed. "I am quite sure that your beasts will hold you all just fine," he assured, climbing onto Shadowfax's back without a saddle.

Just as she predicted, Legolas climbed onto the back of the white horse before reaching down to Gimli to pull the Dwarf up behind him, leaving her with Aragorn.

He clearly understood now that she was trying to distance herself from him and while she could still see the pain in his eyes with his realization, he did nothing to question her about it. He mounted the remaining horse and waited, offering his hand to help her up. She scrunched her nose and climbed on behind him, trying desperately to ignore how tightly he held her hand and how he placed it around his waist for her to hold onto.

Her eyes wanted to cry, but she blinked away the tears and slowly felt the animal under her gain momentum as it ran with the others. She focused fiercely on anything but the Ranger and how his warmth blocked the assaulting wind and how his hand would occasionally rest of top of hers around his waist. After the third time he touched her in this way, she leaned forward to press her lips close to his ear. "Stop," she said and his hand instantly went back to the reins and he did not comment.

* * *

They stopped for the night against the side of a hill, still north of the river. They would reach Edoras in the morning but for now, they needed rest. After their merry chase for the past several days, they each were tired and yearned for any kind of reprieve. Fortunately, Grumpy Gandalf or not, the Wizard allowed them this much and they settled down for the night with Gandalf the first to take watch. At this moment, Aragorn sat with him. She could not tell what they were speaking of, and she told herself that she did not care to know anyway. It was a King's business, for sure.

So she stared up at the stars. Despite being so tired, her eyes looked on, taking in as much of the darkness as her eyes could envelop in their gaze. The stars seemed dimmer here than they had on the Anduin. Perhaps it was because those were happier times, or because they were all together. Or as together as they could have been without Gandalf there with them.

When Aragorn came back to the camp, she hastily closed her eyes, feigning sleep. "Do not play this game with me, Arathell Duvainith," he growled and her eyes snapped open on their own regard. He was not looking at her, but she could feel his anger fall off of him in waves. "You will tell me what is the matter, and you will tell me this now. My patience with you is growing thin and I cannot sit and wait here to be hung in whatever noose you have made for me."

She swallowed and rolled onto her side away from him. "Please do not make me do this, Aragorn. You will not like the answer that I would give you."

"It would be an answer that would cure all of the questions raging in my mind and that would be enough for me," he retorted hastily. "I would know of your opinion of me currently and why you have distanced yourself in the way that you have. Even with all of your subtlety, you fail in this regard. Everyone is aware of our relationship and everyone is now equally aware of your retreat from it. Why?"

Her eyes squeezed shut at the question and she swallowed again, the lump fighting harder and harder against her with each breath. "It wasn't real, Aragorn," she said quietly, not because of her desire to be quiet, but her voice could not be any louder. "You have the world in your hands and you will be a King. You are hopeful and you are warm and safe. I am dark, cold, and unpredictable. My tainted soul and body would only kill you, Aragorn. You should be happy and whole, and this I cannot give you. I would only give you torment and pain, just as I have done with my family for many long years. I…" she took a shuddering breath and steadied herself as best as she could. "I do not love you." The lie stung in her throat and eyes and it made her heart beat wildly in protest and her stomach churn in disapproval. Even her mind hurt as it banged on her skull in denial. "I could never love you in the way that you most need me to," she carried on, despite all of her hurt. He needed to hear this and it would only help him realize the truth of her words sooner, when he would still have the time to find someone. "I thought that I cared deeply for you in such a way, but since Boromir's proclamation to me… I cannot remove him from my thoughts. He still loved me, even with the power of the Ring holding tight to his mind. How could his love for me be impure?"

His hand fell on her shoulder and pulled her toward him so she met his gaze. His grey eyes were like a storm, flooding and spiraling like a hurricane of such intensity, she needed to fight a shiver. Tears slipped from his eyes, but he did nothing to push them away. She restrained herself from doing it for him, wanting to ease his pain and kiss away the sorrows she was inflicting upon him. "You are lying," he muttered, his voice hoarse with the tears he was still trying to hide from her.

"I am not," she replied crassly.

"How can you think such a thing about yourself?" he demanded, shaking her shoulder angrily. "How can you suppose that my love for you is not real? Arathell, I have loved you from the moment I first saw you. I knew then and I know now that you are the only one who could make me truly happy. Do not take this choice away from me simply because you think it is your choice to make. I want you – all of you, and I will not be happy with anyone other than you. I do not care about your past and your darkness. I have seen you glow, Arathell," he claimed, words whispered at the end. "You are not dark for I have seen you shine brighter than any star when you smile."

"You only think yourself in love with me," she disagreed. "You will see soon enough, I'd wager. You will see another maiden – a _true_ maiden – and she will be everything you have ever wanted from me."

"The only thing I have ever wanted from you is a love equal to that of my own," he snapped. She began to disagree once more, but he pushed his hand over her mouth to shush her. "Look into my mind, Arathell. You will see that I love you." She shook her head, knowing that her gift had been taken from her. "The Ring is not here, Arathell. Look. Please, just look."

Hesitantly she stared into those mystifying eyes and gasped against his hand when she could see into him, as she had once done so long ago. Her gift had returned to her! She was still looking into his soul and when she saw the love in him that he felt for her, she cried. It was real. It was as real as the love she felt for him. But it could not matter. He needed to be happy with someone who could be what he needed. But he loved her!

Arathell had never felt so torn before in her life, and a part of her wanted to throw away her reasoning to kiss him soundly and pledge her life to his then and there. She wanted him so badly and knowing that his love was true only hurt her more. "You see?" he murmured and she felt his fingers dancing in her hair. She sobbed harder and looked away to the stars, begging for their help. "Arathell, you are my One."

She shook her head harshly and pulled herself away and stood. "But you are not mine," she choked. "Bother me no longer about this, please," she begged. "I see your love for me and it tears at my soul more with the knowledge that I cannot love you in the way you want me to. I will only hurt you with my indifference. Find another One."

Arathell stalked up to Gandalf and wept beside him. "He loves me," she cried to him.

"You love him," Gandalf added. She nodded painfully. "You fear for him though, don't you? It is more than what we spoke of in Fangorn. You think that the Enemy took Boromir from you because of your ties to him, because they knew it would hurt you. What better way to corrupt an Elf than to kill those she loves? You suppose that if you distance yourself from Aragorn, he will be spared."

"There are so many reasons, Gandalf," she coughed. "I feel such guilt in my soul when I think about Boromir and his fate. He loved me and he made it known. His mind fought the influence of the Ring and he won against such evil to apologize to me and vie for my heart again. I could only tell him squarely that I did not love him and that I cared for another. He knew that I left him because of the Ring's power over him. He knew that I did not fight for him harder because I was afraid of everything he could do to hurt me. He knew that I gave up on him and supposedly ran to another. And then he died in my arms, telling me to be happy with Aragorn. He was such a good Man, Gandalf, and I betrayed him and let him fall and I broke him."

"The Ring broke him, my girl," he bantered. "And you spoke with the Lady Galadriel and I have spoken to you about the happiness that can be found for you. Your grandmother spoke to me of what it was you saw in her Mirror. You saw a child – your child. How is it you have forgotten this prophecy? It is quite obvious now who the father of such a child would be, is it not? And yet you turn away from him."

"He will have a son with another and be just as happy with them."

"Idiot woman," he snapped. "You saw his love for you yourself. How can you think that he can move on from you when you are the One for him? He is yours and yours alone. We have known this since before his birth and only you are too stubborn to see it otherwise." Arathell pursed her lips and dried her tears, her mind fixed on the little boy from the vision. He was beautiful – handsome, just like his father. But that would not be her child. "You also saw your second gift in the Mirror, didn't you?" he asked and her head snapped up to his. "I recognize the stone around your neck well enough. Your grandmother has shown it to me before. She always knew that it was meant for you. She knew of your second gift first out of all of us."

"It has not helped," she retorted. "I could not save Boromir with it, and my emotions were running high, just as she instructed they needed to be if my power was to work. I was afraid and I did not want him to die, yet he died anyway. Why? If I have this power to heal those I care about around me, why can I not do this? Even with this stone around my neck, it helped me not."

"The Valar made their decision about Boromir the moment he set his sight on Rivendell," Gandalf told her. "Your father saw his death in a variety of futures. The Valar wanted him and there is nothing to be done when the Valar want a soul."

"Then why do I have this gift if they surpass me at every turn?" she demanded.

"Because there are times when you can convince them to retreat from their cause," he answered. "They saw your pain at his death, but they knew that this is what needed to happen, for good or for evil, we cannot yet know. This gift is not like your gift of visual truth, Arathell. You must fight to use it. Your gift to see into others is simple and it flows for you. This gift is much like a sword – if you cannot wield it, it does not matter how sharp its point is or the fame its name carries. You must be strong enough to use it properly. It will take time."

"Galadriel said that I could not hope to control it," she reminded.

"And I believe that is more or less true. You cannot control your emotions regarding the fear you feel at the thought of someone you care about dying. But you can control your determination and your strength to fight for them. Both aspects must be in line in order for you gift of healing to work at all."

She pondered for a moment and cast a glance at Aragorn who wasn't facing her as he slept, if he was sleeping at all. She stared him longer, looking into his mind and saw clearly that he was still awake and the pain he was still feeling from her words had not lessened. Arathell could remember saving him in Moria. She could not remember having any sort of determination to revive him, but her fear of him being gone made her quiver even now. She had willed him to be alive and safe. She had demanded it, leaving no other possible alternative. "With Boromir, I was not… as determined," she supposed.

"I do not know, my girl," the Wizard answered cheekily. "I was not there." She opened her mouth to retort but he beat her to it, "I know what you must feel regarding your path with Aragorn. But you know now that he loves you and you have known for longer that you have loved him. Now, more than ever, we are in need of love such as that. It reminds us of why we are fighting this war and why we will not surrender."

"I cannot hurt him, Gandalf," she whispered.

"You already have, I fear. Unlike you, he does not know of your love."

She shook her head clean of the thoughts and began moving away from him before stopping. "Why has my first gift returned, Gandalf? Is it truly because of the Ring's absence?"

His eye twinkled at her when he looked at her. "Why do you think?"

Knowing that she would not get any more answers from the Wizard she walked back to her bedroll and lied down, covering herself in the cloak her grandmother had given her. Her hand reached to touch the circlet on her head while the other clasped Rhetar on her chest. The power of her people was still alive in her, but she could feel it dwindling at the pain in her heart grew.

She did the only thing she could do: she closed her eyes to the world and fought away her inner demons to find a shallow form of sleep.

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 **I'm quite sorry about all of this. Truly. If you are still confused, rest assured, Arathell's stubbornness is going to clash with several people before things get turned around for the better. This story, while a romance, is also very much a story of personal growth. Some things cannot be done within a relationship and need to be sorted out by the individual.**

 **We get to meet more of the lovely Rohirrim next chapter! Yay! I'm quite excited. :D And her gift is back! I know quite a few of you have been asking about this! What do you think? Let me know!**

 **Check out the music! This one is one of my ALL TIME FAVORITES and I would LOVE it if you gave it a listen. :) And leave a review please! We are getting somewhat close again to a hundredth reviewer challenge! Currently, we stand 33 reviews away. Please help us get there!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	54. Chapter 54

**Hey there, everyone! Happy Father's Day! Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate them a bunch! I didn't get to hear from as many of you this time around though! I know that right now the whole story is just frustrating with Aras on the outs. But hang on in there! I promise that the light at the end of the tunnel will come around! But please let me know what you all are thinking.**

 **We are entering Rohan at last! So many of you are curious as to what is going to happen with Éowyn, and I am just so excited that you are guys are thinking about our lovely White Lady.**

 **NOW. I do have an announcement so if you could PLEASE READ MY AN AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER that would be most appreciated. I promise that IT IS IMPORTANT. THANK YOU.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

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Part Four – We Don't Need

Crow and The Butterfly - Shinedown

"Just like a crow chasing the butterfly  
dandelions lost in the summer sky  
When you and I were getting high as outer space,  
I never thought you'd slip away  
I guess I was just a little too late"

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 **March 2, 3019 – Rohan**

The next morning, Arathell's joints were stiff from the sudden lack of use. Having been running for days on end without any respite, her muscles were never given the chance to heal, and now that they had, they hurt more than she could ever remember them hurting before.

Everyone was silent as they gathered their things and packed them back onto the horses. She avoided looking at Aragorn, just as he avoided looking at her. This made her both relieved and extremely pained. She knew now that he understood her reasoning, but to know that he was gone from her for forever made her heart break. There was even a part of her that wondered if it was at all possible that she could die from this pain. The books she had read in her youth, when she denied love, told her she could.

The others seemed to realize that something had occurred the night before because Gimli was now riding on the chocolate stallion with Aragorn and Legolas had pulled her onto his horse without even bothering to consult her. She expected harsh words from him about what it was that she had done, but he did not say anything, thankfully.

The remainder of the journey to Rohan was quiet and swift and when the wooden gates entered her vision, she sighed with relief, knowing that their journey was over for now. Now, at least she would be given leave to stay away from Aragorn's presence and heal on her own if the Valar allowed her.

They paused for a moment and she glanced over at Gandalf. "Edoras," he announced, "and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over Théoden's mind is now very strong. Be careful of what you say. Do not look for welcome here."

They approached ever closer, bonding the horses together as they slowed their animals. A green flag with the painted white horse of Rohan fell down in the wind as they rode up and she saw in the distance a blonde Woman perched on the steps of Meduseld. She could only suppose that this was Lady Éowyn, the niece of the King. Arathell shared a likeness with her in the way that her people had named her as well: the White Lady. Even now, Arathell could understand why as the dress she wore was not highly decorated, but a shining white that stood out against the dirtied gold of her halls.

The houses here were old and already enveloped in decay and she wondered how long their King had allowed for the dilapidated houses to remain this way. The people who had bravely ventured outside in the blustering wind were all dressed in black, as if they were already mourning the loss of the country they once knew, for they were all elders. They held onto their scrappy brooms like walking sticks and had holey hoods pulled over their grey and white hair.

She looked back up to the Woman on the top of the hill, feeling her eyes falling on her and the others. She could see in the distance her curiosity, but more than that, she could see a broken Woman. She was young and fair for a Woman and already she had experienced the horrors of the world in ways that she should not have been forced to even imagine. She looked at Aragorn then and noticed that he also was staring up at the Lady of Rohan with interest.

Her heart clenched at the thought that he could already move on so easily from her to Éowyn, but this was what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted him to find someone else. She wanted him to be happy. Yes, that was what she wanted.

They continued to get closer and closer to the Golden Hall and with each step onward, she was dreading it more and more. She couldn't imagine the girl not falling head over heels in love with Aragorn – she had learned herself that it was practically impossible not to. And she knew well enough that Éowyn was not married.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," she heard Gimli proclaim and it pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced around her, seeing all of the eyes of the citizens on them and more than one furtive stare in her direction. She squirmed uncomfortably but knew that it was a normal occurrence. It never mattered how dire a situation was: Men would always have lust for the things they would never have. When she looked up to the Woman again, she was gone.

They arrived to the stables and were ordered immediately to dismount and surrender the horses away. Only Gandalf took a moment longer on his horse. "You know very well that your King gave me leave to take the steed I wanted. I do not intend to leave Shadowfax here, and you will remember that." The Man gave a quick nod, fearful.

She shakily grinned at him as they walked up to the house, being stopped instantly in front of the doors when the King's Men barricaded their path. She saw them all stare at her the longest before giving Gandalf the attention that he deserved. "I cannot allow you to come before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," He paused and grimaced, "by order of Grima Wormtongue."

Hesitantly she handed over her sword and bow to the Men, glaring at them fiercely while they looked her form up and down appreciatively. She saw Aragorn clench his jaw out of the corner of her eye which brought her a small comfort.

When all of her weapons were removed (aside from her small dagger that she kept hidden in her boot and another hidden under the left side of her tunic), she waited. "Your staff," the Man said again, looking at the tall, regal white staff Gandalf was now sporting. She looked worriedly at how Gandalf could respond to the command.

"You would part an old man from his walking stick," he bemoaned and was finally accepted. She hid her grin behind her stern mask and walked into the halls.

She had been to Rohan a great number of times, but her experience in the Golden Hall was severely limited. Ornate horse heads were sculpted into the pillars of the great home and flags resembling a forgotten strength draped everywhere. Ahead however, she focused her gaze to see a tall, golden throne. But the Man who sat in it was not the King she had remembered. His once vibrant blue eyes were milky with blindness and his hair fell in disarray around his shoulders – a white color that reminded her of death. The crown that held his head looked painful, squeezing it to the point where the King simply looked exhausted. His wrinkles were deeply buried in his skin, refusing to come out and even acknowledge the youth his face once held.

The Man beside him was who she assumed to be the one known as Grima. He truly did look like a snake and she allowed herself a fierce grimace when he made eye contact with her. His greasy black hair clung to his gaunt, yet well-fed face. How it was even possible to look like food for vultures and comfortably full all at once she would not begin to hazard a guess. Ice blue eyes looked like they saw everything and had a twinkle of deviousness in them. His skin was so pale, she wondered if he was ill. He looked excited from the moment he saw them and turned to whisper something into the King's ear, no doubt twisting his words with a forked tongue to make his words gentle and appealing to the weakened mind.

The doors behind her slammed shut and she turned to look back at their exit for a brief moment before trailing her eyes over the sidelines of lords and ladies. Behind the subjects was another set of Men, all looking as if they were apprenticing to become the next Grima in their looks. They stared at her hungrily and she gave them the best challenging look she could offer. They grinned at her slyly, and she felt Aragorn's hand fall on her arm. She knew that despite their differences, he still looked at her as if they were together, and here he was making his claim to the Men that she was accounted for and they had no chance whatsoever with someone like her. The last part was certainly true.

"The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf spat out as they approached the throne. She redirected her gaze back to the King and his pet – or rather the Snake and his toy.

They moved around a great cauldron in the center of the room and she cast another glance at the Men, seeing them follow their group. "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Storm-crow?" a gurgled voice asked and she glanced up at the King once more. Even his voice sounded gravelly and broken with all of the torment he had been put through with this monster at his side.

Grima muttered something back to the King before standing and walking toward them. "Late is the hour that this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name you. Ill news is an ill guest," he accused with blue lips.

"Be silent," Gandalf snapped. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy words with a witless worm." He held his staff up in the face of the snake and Grima hurriedly pulled away, looking fearful.

"His staff," he murmured. "I told you take the Wizard's staff!" he barked.

All of a sudden the Men from the shadows leapt to them, striking in any way they could manage. One gave her a greasy look and licked his lips but she threw her long leg out to kick him harshly in the face, ducking a second later to avoid the punch of another. She punched the Man back squarely in the nose and then felt a pair of arms slither around her midsection. Without pausing, she stomped on the foot she could see and threw her head backwards, hearing a satisfying crack as the nose behind her was broken. She swiveled out from his grasp and finished him with bringing his head to her jutting knee.

"Théoden, son of Thengel," Gandalf had been saying, though she was not paying the greatest amount of attention as another came towards Gandalf. She intercepted him by catching his shoulder and throwing him back to the ground where she gave him a rough kick to his ribs. "Too long have you sat in the shadows."

She heard Gimli growl as he perched over the last: Grima. "I would stay still if I were you," he warned.

"Harken to me," Gandalf bit, coming closer and close to the King. "I release you… from the spell," he said, holding his shaking palm out to the King.

She waited with baited breath and walked closer, standing only slightly behind the Wizard. The King suddenly began laughing, throwing his head back as the madness of his mind took over his body. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey," he laughed.

Arathell looked at the Wizard, wondering what more there was to be done. She saw the determined look on his face and he suddenly threw aside his cloak, his bright radiance of light enveloping the King and making him retreat far back into his throne for shelter. Her eyes squeezed at the white that enveloped her vision, but she opened them quickly to watch Gandalf's magic. "I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," he growled, pointing his staff at the King. Théoden shook, his hand fighting to clench and unclench as he struggled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the White Lady appear and saw her beginning to charge toward the King with fear. Aragorn intercepted her quickly though and she heard a hushed, "Wait," from him. Her eyes remained focused on the King, pushing away all thoughts of herself at this moment.

"If I go," the King growled, but the voice was easily recognizable as Saruman's and she sneered and clenched her hands into fists. "Théoden dies," he threatened.

Gandalf pushed his staff again, making him jump back. "You did not kill me," he conveyed. "You will not kill him," he continued.

"Rohan is mine," Saruman spat out.

"Be gone," Gandalf ordered with another shove. Théoden stared at Gandalf before launching himself at him with a shout. The Wizard retaliated with another jut of his staff and Théoden fell back into his throne in defeat.

He exhaled loudly and suddenly the Woman was back, catching her falling King and hoisting him up. Arathell's hand fell on Gandalf's arm, offering her support, but he did not acknowledge it. Arathell stared at the King, waiting and before her very eyes she could see the veil of death pull away from him. His hair thickened and changed to a rich honey color and his skin looked pink and soft. The milky eyes were painted over with a rich blue, young and full of vigor. The King was a King again and she stared proudly up at Gandalf for what he had done.

"I know your face," she heard him whisper upon seeing the Woman. "Éowyn," he murmured with a grand smile, "Éowyn." His head turned to stare out at his guest and firstly looked to Gandalf who was now slightly leaning on her. Doing such magic against so powerful a Wizard likely drained much of his strength, or at least that was what she could surmise. "Gandalf?" he asked in surprise, looking curious.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," he spoke and she watched as Théoden stood from his seat with the help of his niece.

Both she and Gandalf pulled away and she stood further back now, out of the King's gaze. She had aided his people before under the guise of Shadow, and she was confident that he would remember her presence from when he was young. Arathell had ridden to war long ago with Aragorn in fact to aid the people of Rohan, though she had never given her name, and she knew that Aragorn had used the alias of Thorongil for his means. But the memory of the King would never forget seeing a Ranger and an Elf-maiden traveling together for war. Explaining to the King would pose a challenge, though she was confident that she could manage.

"Dark have been my dreams of late," Théoden remarked. He rubbed his hands together with a look in his eye that she could recognize.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf advised and hurriedly one of the King's Men rushed forward with a sword, buried in its polished sheath.

Arathell watched with a natural proudness when the King took hold of the hilt and withdrew his blade. She could feel and see all of the joy and hope of his people around her and it made her happy. She had helped bring about this rescue and that brought great joy to her heart. Théoden held it aloft and stared at the sharp weapon before she saw the revelation occur in his mind. She could see his anger grow and she grew concerned for a moment and then saw his blue gaze sweep over to the snake that was still lying on the floor.

"Get him out of here," he growled. "Get them all out!" he yelled.

The Men made quick to do their King's bidding and picked Grima up almost happily and walking him to the doors of the Hall. She followed on with interest and saw the Man thrown out viciously onto the steps, rolling all the way down and groaning once he hit the bottom.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!" he begged, inching away on his hands as Théoden stepped closer and closer with his sword drawn and practically itching in his hand.

Arathell swallowed and shook her head. "He is going to kill him," she whispered and met Aragorn's gaze. At this, Aragorn slowly moved down the steps after the King, nodding in agreement with her and seeming to already know her thoughts about the action. She knew that the snake needed to be banished, but she could not think that killing him was the just course. The King's mind was his own again and it would not do well to make his first act an execution. It would only terrify his people and that was something that could not be allowed – not now.

"Your leech-craft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Théoden growled.

"Send me not from your sight," Grima begged.

The King's arms rose, the sword on its way to slice at the traitor when Aragorn's yells and hands caught him. "No, my lord!" he shouted. He said something more to the King though she could not hear. All she knew was that Théoden slowly began to retreat and she heaved a sigh of relief.

Aragorn reached his hand out to Grima, but the beast only spat on his hand and stood, pushing through the crowds angrily before taking one of the horses from the stables and fleeing from the city. "Hail Théoden King!" Aragorn shouted before turning to bow along with all of the others who had joined them in the courtyard.

Théoden turned to them all and she saw a cloud grow in his mind – a cloud of parentage. "Where is Théodred?" he asked aloud. "Where is my son?"

Arathell looked to the Men for the answer but upon their faces, she knew. Sympathy overtook all of her emotions in that moment, and all she could consider was if it was Kara. He asked the question again, walking up to his Men and pleading in a broken voice to see his son – his only child.

She watched him be led away back into his house and the folk around them scurried away to their homes, away from the anguish and possible anger of their King. Too long had their King secluded himself from their world, and the confidence and surety of Men was never strong to begin with. Their memories were frail and they would shirk away from him in fear that he would treat them as he handled Grima.

"The only heir to the throne of Rohan is Éomer," Aragorn murmured, suddenly beside her.

Arathell nodded. "And he is many leagues away from us now," she agreed. "He must be brought back. His uncle will need him for more than kingly duties. If he treats the Marshall as he treats his niece then I do believe that Théoden King will need all of the family he can have." She paused. "Lady Éowyn seems very mature for her age."

She heard Aragorn growl under his breath and against her wishes, she felt comforted. "The King has lost his son," Aragorn commented and her comfort instantly vanished and she looked at him surprised. "You have a child of your own and all you can consider is the maturity of another girl in relation to me. Are you that desperate to see me with another?" he demanded, inching closer and closer to her. She did not reply. "The death of a child – something you preach to amend in your travels in this Fellowship – does not even register in your mind. It is as if you do not even care." Arathell gasped at the accusation and slowly began to move away back into the house, when he grabbed her arm forcefully. "And quite honestly, with the horrors this world has been put through, how could you think that it was only the Elves that could be mature about the situation? The arrogance of you and your people are what helped this race fall into the decay that it has. With your constant refusal to lift a hand to help, they are hopeless and abandoned, just as much as you."

"Are you quite finished?" she demanded, yanking her arm free. She saw him clench his jaw and she moved to take a step into him, anger coursing through her veins from all of his implications. "Do not speak to me of the death of a child, Aragorn. Don't you dare presume me to be cold to this tragedy," she threatened. "My heart breaks for the Man in those halls – this responsible Man that has done everything he could since birth to protect his country – unlike you, who has hidden all of your life. Boromir was right: you are scared and you try to throw all of your guilt on others because you cannot bear to think that you have done anything wrong.

"I do not speak about the child's death because I could not bear it. Each thought about that poor boy inside now reminds me of my Kara. Do you think that a mother on this type of venture can afford the mental and emotional trauma that would come of thinking about the potential death of a daughter? You know nothing of parenting; you have no right whatsoever to judge me.

"And as for this arrogance you speak of – how do you think Shadow got her name if she did not fly to help those in need? I was in Gondor helping build that country before your parent's parents were even a thought! So don't you dare talk to me as you are now!

"I used to think you capable of everything, yet now I see that if this is who you truly are, then you are nothing more than a boy with a crown." Tears were streaming down her face when she turned away and fled back into the house.

She had no idea where she was to go, so she drifted through the halls, bustling with people trying to reassert the reputation of the household now that the snake was gone. None of them paid much heed to Arathell, and for this, she was grateful. There were the occasional stares, especially from the Men, but there were not many of them where she was.

Arathell could gather from the gossip flowing in the halls that preparations for Théodred's funeral were already being put into place. Seamstresses were flocking around dark, melancholy colors and servants were heavily polishing the armor the Prince was to wear and sharpening his sword so that it would glint in the sunlight one last time. Funerals for Men were such fast-paced things. There was no time to grieve, and maybe they made it that way on purpose, so as not to have to dwell long beside the dead. Maybe it helped them move on faster.

Her mind went back naturally to Aragorn and their argument. They had fought before, especially on this journey, but there was something about this fight that was different from the others. The words they each threw at one another were harsher and dug deeper under the tough skin they each brandished. The things he had said to her had made her want nothing more than to cry. He practically accused her of being an awful mother and an unsympathetic woman who could only care about her own romantic life!

However, Arathell had responded with just as much venom, and she realized only now how much she regretted the words she spoke. She had never doubted Aragorn's strength and since Boromir's death, she knew that he was doing everything in his power to make the situation better. He was assuming his duties, which was something she only recently agreed to do, herself. She did not know how to even think about apologizing to him, but she knew that for the moment, they each needed time away from one another, which was for the better anyway.

Why was this fight so awful? It had to be due to running tension regarding their feelings for one another that spiked the emotion to that level. She was not normally that aggressive with him and he had never taken his anger with her to that level. Arathell knew well enough that Aragorn still was in love with her, so perhaps that was why he was so frustrated: because she had denied him. And her own anger had to be because of her inability to have him for herself again.

Now more than ever, she wanted to run and find him and apologize for more than just their fight. She wanted to apologize and confer to him her real feelings – feelings that had never left to begin with. She wanted him back and she wanted to feel his touch again in her hair and his lips on her own. She wanted everything to go back to how it was – more than with just him even. She wanted Boromir alive and she wanted Kara with her just to know that her daughter was truly safe and wasn't dead like the Prince of Rohan was. She craved for Sam's comforting presence and she wished for Merry and Pippin's laughs. She missed Frodo and his sheer will to go on. She even missed fighting with Legolas and playfully bickering with Gimli. All of those seemed like long-past memories now.

So Arathell tarried in the hall, still wanting to carry out her wish and find Aragorn to tell all of these things to, but she knew in her heart that she could not. They needed time away from one another, and she needed to learn to breathe without him near. Even though he could avoid saying it, she knew that he was drawn to Éowyn – he would be a fool not to be. She was fair, mature, young, and came from an impressive family. No one would shame him for wanting the White Lady.

But could her heart take watching him fall for another when she craved nothing more than to be at his side, holding his hand?

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 **Lots of things to say, but first the most important, and then you all can check out if you wish. This Thursday, I am going on an adventure across the country to visit family! I haven't met most of them, but I will be with my grandparents, so I am super stoked. Basically, what this means is THIS IS MY LAST CHAPTER FOR TWO WEEKS. I will resume posting on the third of July so nobody think I am dead next week when I don't update. I know you would all think that I could update on my vacation, but the place I am going literally does not have Wifi, so it is a bust for all of us. You'll just have to be patient.**

 **THAT BEING SAID: I have decided that** IF I GET _OVER TEN REVIEWS BEFORE WEDNESDAY_ **(because that is the day for packing and going to sleep early – have to get up at five in the morning and commence the drive)** _I WILL UPDATE AGAIN_ BEFORE MY BIG ADVENTURE **. So send me your reviews PLEASE and I will try to give you guys another chapter before I leave. I know that this one is leaving you all in a bad place, and I am sorry, so leave a review! If I don't get enough before then, you guys will still get the next chapter on the third of July when I am back home. But this is only if you want an extra chapter now to tide you over. Alright, you all are dismissed if you wish.**

 **I apologize for how movie-verse this chapter is. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of room around it. The end there was different though, right? What do we think about Éowyn? Any predictions as to how our two ladies here are going to meet? That will be in the next chapter. As always, stick with me about Aras. We are close, everyone. The light of the tunnel is drawing near.**

 **Thorongil is a name that I haven't mentioned before to you guys, but you should know that it is a legit alias that Aragorn had during his travels in his younger years. He has quite a few titles, that man. Thorongil is said to mean "Eagle of the Star" and it is a name he used in both Gondor and Rohan during his travels. In other places, he was the Strider we know and love.**

 **Sorry for the length of this thing. Lots to say. But PLEASE REVIEW IF YOU WANT AN EXTRA CHAPTER BEFORE MY BIG ADVENTURE! If I don't see you before then, I suppose it is farewell for the time being!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	55. Chapter 55

**Oh my heavens, thank you SOOOO much everyone! I was seriously floored by how quickly I got responses and such wonderful, kind words they were too! You all are the best! I wish that I could offer another chapter again, but I don't know how much time I'll have so… I suppose this will be farewell for now. I will be back on the third of July with more Arathell!**

 **There was a Guest review that I unfortunately could not respond to: I would have LOVED to write a scene for Frodo and Sam and what is going on with them, but unfortunately, I don't quite know how much I'd be able to add, aside from a spare scene. And this story, is about Arathell so she wouldn't have any knowledge of what is going on. Perhaps your idea can be a one-shot challenge? Thanks so much for the review though, and thank you to other guest reviewers that I could not respond to! You are all amazing!**

 **Anyway! Two more things. One: WE ARE THIRTEEN REVIEWS AWAY FROM SOMEONE WINNING A ONE-SHOT! How exciting! If the response is anything like it has been in the last 24 hours, please have your PM's on so I can talk to you should you win the one-shot. Again, if you have already won once, please allow others the opportunity to do so. I do not write slash or lemons, and the scene does not have to include Arathell if you don't want it to, but it certainly can if you wish. I have heard some great ideas for extra bits and scenes for Arathell that I think a one-shot would be perfect for!**

 **Last thing (I promise it's short – sorry!): I totally forgot to mention that the names of the Parts of this story are taken from the song "Life is Beautiful" by Vega 4. They are arranged in chronological order in the chorus. Please have a listen; thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Four – We Don't Need

the lonely - Christina Perri

"Dancing slowly in an empty room  
Can the lonely take the place of you?  
I sing myself a quiet lullaby  
Let you go and let the lonely in to take my heart again"

* * *

Somehow they managed to bury their Prince before nightfall. Evidently, the Prince had been deceased for a time already and arrangements had been made. And in a horribly fortunate way, Théoden was at least able to say goodbye to his son properly and without the influence of Grima around.

Arathell watched the pale boy slowly be walked toward the tomb, and she followed behind with Aragorn and the others. She did not know Théodred at all, but his loss did strike a chord in her, despite whatever Aragorn thought of her. Tears genuinely filled her eyes, but she never allowed them to fall. These people around her had dwelt in darkness for too long and in fear. What they needed most now was strength and hope. Hope was not something she could easily give, but she would give whatever strength she had.

When Éowyn's burdened song burst over the plains, Arathell was forced to look away from the boy, and she stared straight ahead to the tomb where he would forever lay, a lump burning the inside of her throat.

The doors closed and the singing stopped. The people surrounding the tomb waited for a moment, still drowning in their tears before slowly turning their gazes to their King. Théoden barely even acknowledged them, except for a slow, wordless nod. The people disbanded slowly, but the King did not move, and neither did Gandalf, holding onto his staff and looking on with a downtrodden look.

"We must come away," Legolas murmured to her before dragging her from the premises back into the house. Only then did her mask fall away and the tears slipped over. She fiercely brushed at them and tried not to think about the dead child they just laid to rest. And she tried even harder to not think about the possibility that she could one day be faced with such a task when it came to her own little girl.

They sat at the wooden tables, Arathell clearing her throat every now and again to try to rid the tears. Éowyn merely looked like a statue, as if there were no more tears that she could even begin to shed. Despite everything, Arathell cleared her face to the best of her ability and walked up beside the White Lady. "I am sure you know by now that there are not words that soothe the pain properly," she slowly started, quiet and with her head bowed in a gesture of tenderness. Éowyn gave a harsh nod and swallowed. "It is hardly worth anything, but my comfort is here for the taking should you ever desire it. I cannot promise anything, but I would help you with the burden if I can. There are many in my life that I have lost in one way or another, and I know your hardship."

"It is worth much, my lady," Éowyn replied stiffly before turning to meet her gaze. "You are Elf-kind, fairest and wisest of all of the races of Middle Earth." Arathell blinked, but did not reply. "Are there truly no words that can be offered, even from your race?"

"Death comes easy to no one, my dear," Arathell answered with a sad smile. She looked deeply at Éowyn, seeing the workings of the Woman in front of her. Surprisingly, there was little fear to be had within her baby blue eyes. But there was helplessness. She did not fear for herself, but she felt alone in her desire to help – secluded and even an outcast. "You are strong though," Arathell told her. "I would say that your heart will heal."

Éowyn looked at her with confusion. "How can that be? Every day the strength of the Enemy grows and the strength of our world diminishes. I have no hope of reaching the age of twenty just as I have no hope for my heart."

She cocked her head at the girl and carefully reached to pet the girl's snowy cheek. "I see myself in you, Éowyn. We are much alike – you and I. And though I may be wrong and unfit to say this, I do believe that your hope should not be abandoned at present. The hope I have for my own future is nothing, but that does not mean that your future must be so grim. The tides have changed – albeit slightly. But the fact that they have changed at all must give you some form of comfort, yes?"

"Does it bring you comfort?" Éowyn retorted.

Arathell gave her another sad smile. "My dear, I am too far gone to be revived in that capacity. I am thousands of years and you are not even one score. You are young and should look for joy before you look for sorrow. Leave that task to those who are old and close to dust."

"You do not seem old to me, aside from your eyes. I see the same depth in the gaze of the other Elf in your company: Legolas. Nevertheless, you do not seem old. You are the most beautiful woman I believe I have ever seen."

At this, Arathell chuckled. "My sister's light casts me in a shadow. She is most fair in all of the land."

Éowyn cocked her head to the side and looked at her carefully. "Beauty is subjective and cannot be assumed great just because many say it so."

"A very profound thing to say for one so young," Arathell remarked.

Before Éowyn could retort, the doors to the Hall were opened and the King and Gandalf rushed through with two children in their arms, a boy and a girl. Arathell's eyes widened in alarm and she hurried over to the little girl instantly, taking her from the King's arms. Dirt was practically painted onto her chubby features and her filthy blonde hair clung to her scalp. She glanced over to the other child and saw Éowyn already tending to him. He seemed out of sorts with his surroundings, but she could see that he held onto the White Lady with white knuckles.

"Take them to be cleaned and give them fresh clothes," Théoden ordered and a rush of handmaidens hurried toward them, but Arathell did not let go of the little girl.

"My lady, please. We will tend to her," one of them said with outstretched arms.

Arathell shook her head and looked up to the King. "I am not above taking care of the girl." The little one in her arms looked up at her with big brown eyes, frightened. Arathell shushed her gently and gave her a sweet smile. The girl instantly took comfort and burrowed herself in Arathell's arms, now refusing to be touched by the others. "I will watch her and the boy, if only I would be escorted to the bath."

"I can tend to the boy," Éowyn interjected, earning a nod from Arathell.

Théoden gave a weak nod and waved her away. Éowyn held onto the boy's shoulder and they followed the handmaidens out of the throne room. Arathell noticed out of the corner of her eye that Aragorn was staring at her. Or he could have been staring at Éowyn – she was unsure.

Arathell shook her head clean of the thought and looked at the girl. "What am I to call you, little one?" she murmured gently.

She looked up at her. "My name is Freda," she finally answered.

"How many years do you have, Freda?" Arathell asked.

Freda sniffled. "I have ten years."

"What a big girl you are then!" Arathell happily stated.

They arrived at a spare room and she departed from Éowyn and the boy. Freda looked frightened to be leaving her brother, but Arathell bounced the girl in her arms playfully. "You cannot bathe with your brother, little Freda!" she teased. "You are in the Golden Halls of Meduseld! You must be treated like a Princess and have your own bath. Come now. I am sure some warm water has been prepared for you with the most wonderful of oils to choose from!"

Freda cheered a little at that and allowed Arathell to take her the rest of the way into the bath chamber. Sure enough, water had already been placed in the basin and Arathell warily helped the girl undress and settle into the water. She did not seem bothered by Arathell seeing her nakedness, but Arathell knew to be extra cautious regardless.

She looked over to the selection of oils and brought them all forth for Freda to choose which one she desired. After setting her mind on the smell of lavender, they worked together to wash her. "Would you like to tell me what happened?" Arathell asked timidly.

Freda sighed and when Arathell looked up at the girl, there were tears. "My house burned down. There was smoke everywhere and it burned my eyes. Mama told us to leave on Garulf, our horse. But Eothain is not big enough for him. But we rode on Garulf. Mama said to come here and tell the King what happened."

"Where is your mama?" she murmured gently, washing with a cloth at a piece of dirt that clung to the girl's face. "Do you remember?"

Freda cried a little and held her arms out for Arathell to take her. Not even thinking of wetting her clothes, Arathell held the girl and pet her hair. "There were scary things coming after us. And Men – lots of Men were coming for us as well. Eothain would not tell me what they were, but I think they were the Orcs. They come all of the time now to places in Rohan. Mama would never tell me about it. I think she thought I would be afraid. And I am afraid! We… we had to leave Mama there… at home. She told us she would find us! Do you think she is here already? She promised she would find us."

Arathell placed a kiss on the girl's forehead. "Little Freda, I do not know. But come! You must be hungry, and a little Princess should never go wanting."

Freda was reluctant to release her but she eventually did, coming out of the bath. She was given a dress that was slightly too big for her but Arathell told her that she looked beautiful in it regardless.

They walked back to the Golden Hall and found her brother was already there, Éowyn crouched down at his side. He had already been served a bowl of stew from the kitchens, but when he saw his sister, he seemed relieved. Freda, on her part, was ecstatic, and she ran to him and threw her arms around him. He pulled her back to the table where she was also given a bowl of food and Éowyn crouched down beside her for a moment, stroking her hair tenderly. "They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the West-fold, burning as they go – rick, cot and tree." The Woman pulled out a heavy green blanket and draped it over the girl.

Arathell stayed relatively close to the girl, who looked up at Éowyn with big blue eyes. "Where is mama?"

Éowyn hushed the girl, crouching at her side. Freda continued to stare up at Arathell however and reached for her hand which Arathell gave without a thought.

She cast her gaze to the King in his throne, face covered in shame from the fact that he had allowed this to happen to his people. Gandalf was close to his side, where the snake had sat and she wondered briefly just how willing Théoden would be to hear any counsel from this friend after being fed lies for so long. He would want to be strong and do things the way he wanted and what he thought was best for his people. "This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash," Gandalf told him, gesturing to the children. Freda looked up at her, but Arathell shook her head to quiet the girl's fears. "All the more potent he is now, driven out of fear for Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children," he murmured, and she watched as his hand fell on the arm of the throne. Arathell winced, knowing that this form of persuasion was unlikely to sway the King's mind. He would not allow himself to be controlled again so easily. "You must fight."

"You have two thousand good Men riding North as we speak," Aragorn mentioned, taking a moment from his pipe to look imploringly at the King. "Éomer is loyal to you. His Men will return and fight for their King."

Théoden stood from his seat and walked to the middle of the hall. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Éomer cannot help us," he sighed. Gandalf, also having risen moved toward him again, but this time, Théoden was quicker. "I know what it is you want of me. But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war," he said solemnly, looking at the Wizard.

"Open war is upon you, whether you'd risk it or not," Aragorn disagreed and she clenched her jaw, knowing that he was right, but knowing also that openly questioning the King's decisions would not sway him.

Sure enough, Théoden turned to glare at the Ranger. "When last I looked, Théoden – not Aragorn – was King of Rohan."

Gimli grumbled a little from his ale and wiped his face with his beard. "Then what is the King's decision?" Gandalf demanded.

Théoden stared ahead at Aragorn and with defiance falling off of him in waves, Arathell could sense the answer. "Helm's Deep is our safest choice," he declared. "There are already supplies within the city and we will have the advantage there."

"My lord, are you positive in your decision?" Arathell asked dryly. "The fortress may be safe from attack, but the road is anything but. Your lands are crawling with spawns of the Enemy, and you would be taking a great risk carrying the lives of so many with you and at a speed that would only increase your risk of being found by the Enemy. Saruman has a great many resources, my lord."

"What can I do for them here?" he retorted. "Please, Shadow, what would you truly suggest is the safest course of action for all of my people? If my gamble pays off, then hundreds are spared. If I sit waiting for the Enemy, then it shall be a massacre."

Arathell stiffened at the title and pursed her lips. "Your Majesty need not be so angry with the suggestion. If you sincerely believe that I am as heartless as the tales say that I would allow your people any hurt then you do not know me at all. I will execute your decision, but do not expect me to sit quietly and agree with your every word."

"I have sat too long listening to others' words," he snapped back. "If I will not take the counsel of the King of Gondor and a Wizard then be assured that your opinion does not matter to me, even with your titles."

Arathell sighed and looked down at the girl who was staring at her confused. "Eat your soup before it gets cold, little Freda."

She walked towards the doors of the Hall, eager for some air after the stubbornness that flooded that room. She felt all eyes trailing after her, but she paid them no mind, coming to the balcony and looking on out to the people. Some of them glanced up at her, curious as to why an Elf was in their presence, but there were other things on her mind at present – too many things.

* * *

 **March 3, 3019 - Edoras**

The next morning, waking up, she quickly learned about how serious Théoden truly was to leave the city. Preparations were already being made to leave and Arathell was forced to care for a crying Freda. Apparently, her mother had promised her that they would meet in Edoras and the girl was loath to leave her mother behind again, especially with so many dangers roaming the world.

She also had yet to speak with Aragorn again, and she tried to comfort herself with the possibility that he would soon no longer plague her thoughts at all if he already wasn't plaguing her conversation. Somehow, that only made matters worse for her.

Arathell sat outside now, near the stables with a loaf of bread in her hand. It was nearing breakfast, but she knew very well that with the preparations, breakfast would not be such a leisure affair. The bread would suffice.

One of the guards that had first escorted their troop inside came out and began delegating to the people of Edoras the King's plans and how to pack lightly. Her gaze fell to the rolling hills beyond this home and she grimaced. It was too open. How could these people expect to make it all the way to Helm's Deep without some sort of quandary? It was impossible. The cunning of Saruman was even more legendary than her own wretched alias and he would know better than to do nothing.

"Helm's Deep," she heard and turned her head slightly to see Gimli and the others emerge from the Hall, walking toward the stables. Without thinking, she followed them, already feeling restless from the wayward decisions being made. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! Who will defend them if not their King?" Gimli demanded.

"He is only doing what he thinks best for his people," Aragorn answered and she forced herself not to look – remain strictly a warrior. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past," he explained. From the way he sounded, he was tired, and she could not blame them. There were too many things on this journey that were exhausting – their tattered and broken relationship being only one of a dozen to actually choose from.

"There is no way out of that ravine," Gandalf disagreed, finally entering the stables.

She left them then, hearing a gentle call from Gandalf to look to the East in five days. Her mind was elsewhere amongst the horses. Though they were not all as beautiful as the stallions and mares of her homeland, these horses were legends in their own right. Each one was bred with purpose and care and raised with more respect than most people ever earned in their lifetimes. These were the blood of the people of Rohan. It was with these horses that the blood and sweat rolled from the shoulders of the Men here.

Her feet carried her to a stallion's stable, where he was tied down and looked just as restless as she felt. He had a dappled grey coat that glimmered with sweat and his abnormally blue eyes swiveled in their sockets until they rested on her. He was small in comparison to the others and had likely not seen the horrors of war. Or perhaps he had seen too much of it.

Arathell breathed gentle whisperings in Sindarin to the stallion, seeing his ears flick backwards as he appraised her. She sighed and boldly walked in. He shuffled anxiously and nickered warningly at her, tramping his foot on the ground. Arathell stared into his eyes defiantly and seated herself on the hay, knowing full well that he could charge and trample her in an instant if he so wished to.

The horse's anger slowly melted out of him as the minutes ticked on and the world outside of the stable seemed to be nothing but a blur to them both. He focused only on her actions within his territory, and she watched him with boredom.

His physical appearance reminded her much of her blessed Daeroch in his later years where his black had melted into a sweeping grey. But his personality was unlike any horse she had ever owned before. Her wispy Faerdhinen barely made any sound but was one of the most loyal creatures she had ever encountered.

"You always have gravitated toward those who are troubled," a voice remarked and she cast her eyes away from the blue eyes of the stallion to see Legolas leaning on the stable doors. "His unease falls from him in waves," he continued in Sindarin.

Arathell sighed and kicked her legs out to assert more dominance within the stable. The stallion did not seem overly thrilled by her demonstration but he did nothing to challenge her. "Faerdhinen is much gentler than him," she replied in her native tongue. "She came to me – not the other way around."

He smirked. "I was not speaking only of horses, mellon nin," he teased and she smiled in return, though she could feel how it left her eyes and mind untouched. "He misses you," he commented and she sighed once more, looking away from the horse down to the ground where her fingers laced together. How long had it been since she had held his hand? It may have only been days but to her it seemed like a lifetime. Even the ends of her hair lost their curl from his neglect. "You rejected him; he has told me this much at least." She closed her eyes now and leaned her head back against the wood behind her, swallowing. "He says that you do not love him."

"Do you believe that?" she croaked.

"It does not matter what I believe though if you ask for my opinion, I would say that your rejection was nothing but a blatant lie." She didn't respond. "You fear for him and for yourself and what you should do if you lose him."

"I would destroy him, Legolas," she muttered, now in Common. She wiped away at a tear. "He shines brighter than any star Varda has given. I am nothing but darkness, ready to swallow him whole."

He cocked his head to the side at this. "Have you not often compared such a likeness to you and your sister? You accentuate her brightness to give others hope, while taking none for yourself. And she illuminates your life and gives you joy."

"And my relationship with Arwen is clearly what I should be striving for with Aragorn?" she retorted.

"You love him!" he growled. "You break him for your selfishness – to protect yourself –"

"To protect him!" she snapped, finally climbing to her feet. The horse stamped his feet in aggression, but she did not pay him mind. "I would give my life to ensure that he lives. I love him with everything in me and as such am willing to let him go to live the life that he truly deserves with one who can make him as happy as he has made me! I could never give him such happiness. My mind is tainted from the horrors I have seen and my soul may as well be as black as the Nazgûl! What can I give him but pain and sorrow when a soul like him deserves laughter and joy?"

Arathell burst from the stable, ignoring the fierce neighing from the stallion and fled to the outer reaches of the city. There was a part of her debated on running. She could join Gandalf in his quest – whatever it was. She could forget about Aragorn and she could let him and Éowyn fall into the embrace they were destined to.

She took a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around herself, staring out into the distance, still being able to see the tiny pinprick of Shadowfax. There was still time. That stallion in the stables would let her ride him, surely.

"My lady?" she jumped and turned to the speaker, seeing Éowyn stare at her nervously. "Are you alright?"

Arathell harshly swallowed and gave a mirthless laugh. "I would have given you a more positive answer one century ago."

The woman smiled softly. "Alas, I was not alive then unfortunately." Arathell laughed again and realized that she was crying once more. She batted at the tears and looked out to the fields, now seeing the tombs of Rohan's royals. "Lord Legolas sent me to inquire after you. He seemed concerned."

"He knows me well," Arathell muttered. "He was not concerned for my state of mind rather my state of location. He knows how restless I can be."

"Are you considering leaving us?" Éowyn asked. "So soon?"

Arathell kicked at the dirt under her feet. "Would that I could. I have become far too invested in this journey to turn away now. I left my daughter to see this world safe and I would not return to her with guilt on my shoulders." She paused. "I will stay as long as Rohan is in need."

The women fell silent for a time. "You have a daughter?" Éowyn mentioned. "What is her name?"

She smiled, instantly drawing up the shining green eyes and black tresses in her mind. "Her name is Kara."

"Is that Elven?"

"No. Her birth mother was a Dwarf. I have cared for her as my own for over a century now. In fact, she is a Princess of Erebor now – married to Prince Kili."

Éowyn's eyebrows rose at the information but she did not seemed disgusted. "Then she has no father?"

Arathell thought of Balin, buried in his tomb in Moria. "No."

"And you have no one to call yours?"

Arathell looked out of the corner of her brown eyes to the White Lady, curious. "Never truly," she answered tersely.

"Oh." There was silence for a moment. Arathell was surprised that she had allowed herself to speak of her daughter. She rarely did that with those she did not deem trustworthy – even Boromir had never once heard in great detail about Kara. And yet with barely any prompting, Arathell told the Woman beside her. Maybe Arathell recognized her soul and saw the true purity in it. What would the harm be to say such things to a girl?

"I would have thought that Lord Legolas would have ensnared your heart, as he is one of your kind and looks after you," Éowyn mentioned offhandedly.

"He and my sister have fallen together in that way – not he and I. Our temperaments are too similar in some ways and too different in others," Arathell explained.

"So you are more like brother and sister then?"

Arathell shrugged. "We have had our moments."

"And what of your other two companions? How do you see them?"

Arathell raised her head in understanding. "You are drawn to Lord Aragorn, are you not?" she quipped. Éowyn blushed fiercely and looked away. "Forgive me. I do not dally in meaningless conversation."

"No, I do not either," the other Woman rushed. "Only I was unsure of how to proceed with such a question to one such as you. You exude… a much stronger aura than others."

Arathell grinned. "I shall take that as a compliment." Éowyn shuffled on her feet. "Many women are drawn to him. It is nothing to be ashamed of. He is a Man of good lineage and looks and his kindness can make anyone feel like more than they had ever supposed themselves to be." Just when she was about to finish with saying that his heart was free for the taking, she hesitated. She swallowed and tried to force the words out of her throat, but it seemed that they just would never come. She knew then that she was simply too selfish to give him away so freely – not when she was still as in love with him as she was. "If you vie for his affections…" she began, "Then you must be prepared to experience great difficulty. I am afraid that he has given his heart to another."

Éowyn's face fell. "And does she love him in return?"

Arathell took a shaky breath. "Most ardently," she replied.

"Then what hope do I have at all to even have him look at me? I would be nothing but a nuisance to him."

"She cannot have him and he cannot have her," Arathell explained. "They can never be together and he knows this well enough. There may be hope for you yet."

"And you would see me as his alternative?" she rounded. "Someone who fulfills the role but does not capture him entirely? What kind of life is that?"

"He would learn to love another. In fact, I have seen the way he looked at you today. You have already had influence over him and have intrigued him. All you must do is continue with the way that you have been going and… I am sure that he will forget of his other love completely."

"Where is she?" Éowyn asked.

Arathell grimaced. "I do not think she truly knows the answer to such a question."

"And her name?" she pressed.

She looked away completely then towards where she had seen Shadowfax. The horse was gone and all of her chances of running after them were just as gone. "That is not for me to divulge. It is his heart that he has offered to her, after all." She could tell that Éowyn still had many questions about Aragorn's romantic life, but Arathell could not find it within her to speak any more about it. "We should go back inside. Your uncle will have wondered where you have gone."

The walk back was fairly quiet and Arathell found herself swallowing back tears often. She could see Éowyn giving her curious looks out of the corner of her eye but Arathell did not care to address them. She was definitely surprised at how perceptive the girl was, but that came second to the sting she was courting in her heart. She tried to be supportive of Éowyn and her desire for Aragorn and she knew that it would be a better match and Aragorn and herself. But the selfish piece of her flared up at the thought of him playing with this girl's hair and kissing her and laughing with her.

Arathell left the White Lady's side immediately after they returned to the Hall. She wanted to do nothing but cry, but that was not the kind of woman she was. Preparations were being made today, and she would do anything to keep her mind away from Aragorn.

* * *

 **What are we thinking, my lovelies?! Please let me know! I know that many of you have been curious about Éowyn and Arathell interacting! Just know that they are about to embark on something here within the next few chapters. I'm excited. But please let me know what you think! And yes, Aragorn wasn't in this one a whole bunch, but perhaps that is for the best. Gotta have time to cool down a little after such a big blow-out fight. I know it will be a while before I update again, but please do not fall silent!**

 **Check out the music as always (last chapter's was pretty great, though I forgot to mention it in my monster of an AN.**

 **And I will see you all when I get back from my adventure! Let's get to 500 reviews! If we hit that number soon, I MIGHT (strong might, by the way) be able to get the one-shot of choice out before I leave, though I don't anticipate that happening. Nevertheless, good luck to all! I hope we can get there!**

 **Love, LM**


	56. Chapter 56

**Hey there, everyone! I'm BAAAACK! My grand adventure was a definite success, and I loved every moment of it dearly.** **Thank you all for being so incredibly patient with me and my time away. I don't foresee that happening again for a good long while, so never fear!**

 **And this story has over 150 favorites! Thank you SOOOO MUCH! You are all amazing! (In case I haven't told you all before)**

 **I do have a one-shot to award! We have made it to 500 reviews and I am absolutely astounded and ever-so-grateful for the loving words and support you all have given me!** _Woman of Letters_ **won the 500th reviewer challenge! Congratulations! Her one-shot is posted and is called** _"Spars and Scars."_ **It features Arathell and Aragorn in the earlier stages of their friendship trekking through Rohan together. Speaking of which, I HAVE A NOTE FOR YOU GUYS AT THE BOTTOM THAT I WOULD LIKE EVERYONE TO READ PLEASE. But the one-shot is awesome, and I strongly urge you all to check it out! It works very much like a deleted scene to this story, and likely, I will make a reference to it again in this story. If you don't read it though, you should be fine – there is already a scene earlier in this story that sort of references what I will be discussing later in the story.**

 **Thanks for the support and PLEASE READ THE AN AT THE BOTTOM. I MADE AN ERROR AND I WISH TO INFORM YOU OF MY SILLINESS!**

 **The chapter is extra long today for my absence AND… drumroll please… I think you guys are going to like it! What we've all been waiting for! Plus a tidbit for you Gimli lovers…**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

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Part Four – We Don't Need

Dust to Dust - The Civil Wars

"You've held your head up  
You've fought the fight  
You bear the scars  
You've done your time  
Listen to me  
You've been lonely, too long"

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 **March 4, 3019 – Edoras**

The next morning was even busier than the previous. If the King had his way, they would be leaving that afternoon towards Helm's Deep.

Arathell worked in the halls of Meduseld, helping occasionally, but ultimately looking after the children, who rarely left her side. She held Freda's hand as they walked and when she heard a loud clash of iron striking, she shoved the children behind her on instinct and looked to see Éowyn and Aragorn's swords meeting above their heads.

"Arathell?" Eothain asked, peeking from around her side. "What is it?"

She cleared her throat awkwardly and rested her hands back to her side. "Nothing; 'tis merely a reflex." Arathell began moving them away from the scene towards the kitchens for them to have their final meal before the journey. She couldn't stop herself from looking back once first, seeing Aragorn and Éowyn talking gently to each other. She felt her ears grow red with jealousy, but she swallowed back the shout behind her teeth. Aragorn walked away moments later, but Éowyn watched without moving as he made his retreat.

"Arathell!" Freda moaned, tugging on her hand to drag her to the kitchens. Arathell blinked rapidly and followed them.

She deposited them with the cooks there who had taken a great fondness to the children. Walking back to her chambers to collect her things, she gnashed her teeth angrily. She shouldn't be jealous, but she was jealous all the same. She knew that it wasn't right. Why was she still feeling like this?

Arathell rounded a corner and suddenly felt a hand on her arm, stopping her. Instantly, she reached for a dagger, but that arm was grabbed just as quickly. She looked up and saw kind grey eyes and froze. "You are in a hurry this morning," he commented. It didn't sound like the Aragorn she remembered, filled with casualness and wonder. He sounded dry and tired and… forceful.

Carefully, she pulled her arm free from him and nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She desperately wanted to leave his presence, but she knew him better than that. He would not allow her to go anywhere until he had said whatever it was that was on his mind.

"Do you have a mount?" he asked, again sounding forceful.

Arathell nodded once more, thinking of the stallion in the stables. No one would dare ride that animal, so she would take him for herself. "His name is Dunwulf," she supplied.

"Dark wolf?" he translated from Rohirric and she nodded again. "Appropriate."

That comment stung more than anything she had ever heard in her life and she looked away and blinked hard at the tears that popped into her eyes. Was that all he could think of her now? She was nothing but dark to him and maybe even the wolf that craved solitude. "What do you want?" she croaked and coughed, shuffling her feet.

"Do my words hurt you?" he asked, ignoring her question. He sounded too much like he had enjoyed twisting those words into her. Maybe it was his form of revenge, and she knew that she could not even argue with him over the point as she deserved every slanderous thing he could think of to say to her.

"Why should they?" she demanded roughly, but the gasp from tears betrayed her. "What do you want, my lord?" she growled. "Is your sole wish to mock me and ask me ridiculous questions?"

"If it was?" he drawled.

"Then you should find another target," she rounded with ease.

"You have avoided me for two days now," he mentioned.

"Your words after Grima departed were rather harsh."

"As were yours."

"What do you want?" He growled and grabbed her arm again and pulled her away from the prying eyes of the servants. "Don't you have better things to be doing than dragging me through empty corridors?"

They arrived at a fairly secluded place with everything already taken away for the journey and with such a minimal chance that anyone would come here made her stomach twist and turn. She was afraid of the gleam in his eye, recognizing it far too well. "Tell me why," he demanded.

She blinked at the order. "Why what?"

"Do not play ignorant," he snapped. "We both know that what you said to me that night was far from the truth and I demand an explanation."

"How was it false?" she murmured.

"I love you, Arathell," he answered and pressed his forehead against hers. She shivered from the words and the touch. "I love you and I know that you love me. Why are you denying what we have?"

A tear leaked from her eye and she forced herself to pull away. "Everything you believe we have is nothing but an exaggeration your mind is playing on you, Aragorn. I see it clearly now and I wish that you could see it too, just so that you are no longer forced to feel this pain. I do not love you and you pestering me about the situation will not make me love you. It was a dream, Aragorn. What hope could you and I ever have to be happy? You will die and I will live. Or we both will die."

"My death may not be for centuries!" he retorted.

"You are the only one who holds that hope. How can you not see that I am incapable of hoping for any positive outcome? I expect that this war will kill me and I have made my peace with that. But I will not die from a broken heart. A warrior's death is all that awaits me."

"If I were to die tomorrow, you would not even feel grief?" he snapped.

"Of course I would feel grief!" she shouted. "You are my most treasured friend and I cannot lose you in any way greater than that!"

"Is this how you treat your friends then?"

"If you mean by not engaging in a romantic relationship with them, then yes, that is generally how I treat my friends," she replied sarcastically.

"That day Grima left," he reminded and she shut her mouth and looked away. "The things you said were nothing a friend would say."

"Because your words were the model for what a friend sounds like."

"I'm sorry," he stated. Her eyes fell back on him and she pursed her lips. "That is what I really wanted to say to you. I know you well enough to know that you would never dismiss the dangers children face. I know that you are a mother and care for children in a way that only a mother could. It was wrong of me to insult you on those grounds. It was wrong for me to insult you at all. But…" he chuckled mirthlessly. "You are the only woman who can make me this angry, but also the only woman who has ever given me real happiness. You have hurt me in a way that would no doubt kill me if I were an Elf. But I have never felt more alive than when I am even in your presence. What I said to you then was merely a reaction of my constant disbelief from your words from that night. It confuses me still and it hurts me still. And in that moment, all I could envision was your desire to push me that much further from you, and… I did not want that. I still do not want that. I made you a promise that I would forever be at your side and I felt as though you were not even granting permission for me to have that position as your friend, let alone as your One."

They stared at one another for a time and she saw the storm in his eyes subside as all of his words were divested. But she saw the love in his mind and wished more than anything that she could give him that love back. It rose inside of her chest, begging to escape through her lips onto his, but she swallowed the desire back. "You are my friend, Aragorn," she surrendered. "You will never lose me in that regard. There have been too many things that you and I have seen in this world, and I still need you. I will always need you with me on some level. I just hope that you understand that I do neither want nor need you in the way that you believe. I do not know what awaits me, but I know that it is not your love. There will be another maiden out in this world who is a true maiden and will be able to give you happiness. Of this, I am sure."

"You do not have hope for our survival, yet you believe that I can find another love that I can return?" he retorted. "Your logic is flawed."

Arathell pursed her lips. "Éowyn has made mention of you to me." Aragorn stiffened. "She seems… quite interested actually. And I see the look you gain in your eye when you speak with her." She blinked back tears and took a deep breath. "Is it truly impossible?"

"I do not want her," he tried again, enunciating every word clearly.

"Just as I do not want you. And yet you try regardless," she reminded.

"Only because I know for certain that you do indeed love me and my attempts are rationally assumed to eventually work and remind you."

Arathell smiled, unable to stop herself from reaching to touch his cheek. His face nuzzled into her palm instantly, devouring her touch like a man dying from thirst. "There you go hoping again."

"One day, I'll show you how," he murmured, kissing her palm.

A shiver trembled down her spine and she pulled back and folding her hands in front of her. "I assume that we will be leaving shortly." She began to walk away but then paused to look back at him. "I forgive you, Aragorn as long as you also will forgive me for my wretched words. Of one thing I am certain: you may not yet be crowned, but there has never been a greater King than you. And I have seen several so I do not exaggerate. I will follow you into whatever darkness you walk through."

He gave her a tender smile which she took to mean forgiveness. She turned and walked away for good then, into the stables to retrieve Dunwulf.

True to her beliefs, the Rohirrim allowed her to take the horse with barely any coaxing, and the stallion seemed to remember her. He treated her roughly and bit at her once, but after a not-quite-hard smack on the nose, he allowed her to do practically whatever it was that she wished.

Legolas and Gimli approached her sides at the start of the journey, for which she was grateful.

"Did you resolve your conflict?" Legolas asked coyly, looking straight ahead, as if he was already bored.

"How is it that you seem to know everything about what happens between Aragorn and me?" she rounded.

The Prince shrugged. "I suppose that it has nothing to do with the fact that Aragorn and I are quite benevolent friends and when it comes to matters of the heart, he cannot seem to keep a secret."

Arathell scoffed. "Now, now, lassie," Gimli lectured, pointing his finger at her and imitating her father quite perfectly with the pose. "There is no need to get smart. I for one cannot understand your logic and neither can this laddie. If two, uninvolved people cannot understand it then I am sure that your lad doesn't either."

"He is not my lad, Gimli," she snapped.

"Girl, he has been your lad for as long as Mahal has loved Dwarves. To deny that is only kidding yourself of the truth." She glared at the Dwarf and he shrugged. "I don't see what all this fuss is about. He loves you and though you may deny it as much as you like, all of us know that you love him."

"I would break him, Gimli," Arathell sighed, fidgeting in her saddle. Dunwulf clearly had not been ridden much before and was giving her a difficult time. Or this could be his form of revenge – she did not know. "I am… broken… like shards of glass. I would only be able to cut him and hurt him. I do not know how to not do such a thing. It is merely my nature."

"So you cut him with your rejection," Legolas supposed.

"Better sooner than later," she reasoned.

Gimli sighed and shook his head. "Elves," he finally drawled, catching the curious stare from both her and Legolas. "Thousands of years you are on this earth, and yet your race still cannot understand what it means to be happy, especially you, lass," he snapped, pointing a harsh finger at her. "You carry your feelings around like infected wounds, and I for one, am quite finished with your melancholy attitude. Nearly three thousand years old and you have yet to understand how to be happy. You think your troubles are worth your behavior? If you were a Dwarf, your mother would have slapped your childishness out of you years ago." Arathell bit her lip, looking down at the ground and fighting the blush that was threatening to take her cheeks. "These Men, and my people… do you think you are the only one to witness tragedy? If you have the chance to be happy with Aragorn, then you had best get along with it. If the world is ending as you so drearily believe, give yourself your last days with something that makes you happy. And if you decide to not heed the advice that only you seem to not understand, then keep your mouth shut and lock away that attitude of yours." Without another word, he rode the horse warily up ahead to converse with some of the Women while Legolas remained on the ground, walking alongside her horse.

"Well, that was quite dramatic," she exhaled, but she could not deny that the words were like a scab to her, and all she craved to do was pick at them. Was Gimli right? Was she really so wrong and so… That is to say, had she done this to herself? Created a world not worth living in simply because she thought it was easier? Celeborn had always claimed her o be selfish, and perhaps she had lost sight of the woes that the other races shared. Gimli could be right… three thousand years. No other race could live as long as her own. But all accounts, she should have the longest list of happy memories out of anyone here, but it seemed that even Théoden with his dead son smiled more often than her.

"I'd say it was quite true, and high time that you hear such words. You are being unnecessarily stubborn, and it is only hurting yourself and the people around you in the process," Legolas retorted. "You're being a child, and I think you know it." Arathell elected to not respond to such a thing, but there were cogs turning in her mind now, and she was curious as to what her Elven friend could possibly add to the discussion. Casting a glance at him, he looked pensive. "I have known Aragorn for some time, Arathell," he mentioned.

She nodded warily. "As have I."

Legolas shook his head and looked ahead at the leader of their caravan. The King looked stoic on his white horse, draped in a velvety colored greens and maroons. Aragorn rode beside him, looking rugged and simple in his black leathers. Nevertheless, the people looked more at the Ranger than they did at their fresh King. "When I first met him," Legolas began, bringing her attention back to the Elf. "He was traveling with the Dúnedain. He was younger then and he smiled easier. Given that his age as a Man is comparable to my age as an Elf, we became easy friends. We were leaders among our people, though I am unsure of his knowledge of that at the time. Nevertheless, he laughed often and would often tell tales of the mischief Elrond's sons were a part of. That was how I learned of his connection to your family. At first, I became anxious, because this would mean that he knew Arwen. And being a mortal, I was unable to think that he had been able to resist her beauty and was in love with her. He was certainly happy and would stare out into the distance sometimes.

"I approached him about it one evening during a watch. I simply asked if he knew of your sister. He shrugged and told me that he had met her once and that he thought her fair. Then, he revealed to me that it was not her who occupied his thoughts. Naturally, I was confused and asked him who did captivate him, as he was very much captivated." Arathell held her breath, afraid. Legolas gave her a knowing look, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking of. "He said that when he was but a babe, his mother brought him to the safety of Rivendell. He said that he did not remember much of his arrival, except for when a glowing Elf-maid entered a chamber with his mother and Lord Elrond. She smiled at him with brown eyes and he told his mother later that he would marry this Elf-maid." Arathell's eyes watered and she looked away. "But she left as soon as he arrived and he began to think that he had dreamt of her, as she was gone for a time. When she came back, he was older. He says that she was more beautiful than he could ever have hoped to remember.

"Apparently, she never noticed him – at least not in the way he had hoped. But this worked to his advantage, as he would hate for her to see him only as a boy who would grow into a Man. He wanted her to look at him as the Man he aspired to be. But he loved her. She was everything to him. And even if she never looked at him, he loved her because there was always a chance that she could learn to love him as he loved her."

He paused and she met his gaze. She was shuddering at the things she heard – things she had never once expected to hear. The love she thought Aragorn possessed for her was far deeper and stronger than anything she had imagined. He had loved her from the beginning when she had never thought of him once in a romantic way. It almost scared her at how much he loved her. Arathell could not think of anyone loving her that deeply. Her family loved her; it was true. But Elves loved differently from Men. Elves loved once and steadfastly with a loyalty that could not be hoped for in the other races – even Dwarves. They were always a unit, bonded on each level but with such restraint. They loved one another but they did not show their need for one another, despite the unit they displayed.

Men were different in their affections. While they could be fleeting, their passion was as intense as a Dwarf's. What they loved, they protected with their dying breaths and they fought with fire in their bellies and hurricanes in their eyes. What Aragorn made her feel was unequaled to anything she had ever felt. His touch ignited every nerve and every sense. He made her feel alive. It was a novel concept, despite living for three thousand years. She wanted more with him – as if nothing was truly enough to sate her.

"When we had spoken," Legolas continued and she stared at him with fear now. "I had asked him why he was so cheerful if he did not have the attention of the one he loved. He told me that he had sparred with her. Of course, I was shocked and I could not think of an Elven maid in Rivendell who was equipped with such a skill… until he said your name." Arathell looked away and wiped at a tear. "He said that it was not like sparring. He said that it was like dancing. It was…"

"Intimate," she answered, remembering the moment well. She had met her match in the ring that day. She could remember his sword pushing against her back with his fingers clasping a broken wrist, pulling her whole body into his. Her own sword had been pushed to his stomach and she had met him with a triumphant look when he had thought he had won the match.

Legolas nodded. "Yes, that was the word he used as well." They were silent for a moment and she bit her lip. "Arathell, what he feels for you will not be changed. He may have many years of his life left ahead of him and he may not. But what you are attempting to accomplish with Éowyn cannot be possible. He has had his eyes on you for far too long and I do not think that he even recognizes that there truly are other women who may desire him. So what you are doing now… even if you believe that you are doing it for his own good, you are only pushing him into something that would not be real. You are crushing the love he has offered you and you would be ruining whatever woman he would be unfortunate to have. Lady Éowyn is fair and though she may have interest in Aragorn, she would never really be happy with him. He was happy with you. And you were happy with him."

"But Boromir –" she began.

"No," he stopped. "Boromir accepted your refusal. You played to him for a time because that is what your heart told you to do. But now you know that you were never meant to be with him. Aragorn, as Gimli has told you, is your Man. And you are his One."

Legolas stalked off then to the front of the ling to dawdle with Gimli for a while, leaving Arathell to her thoughts. She had never known how intense Aragorn's feelings for her were. She had truly believed them to be nothing but a phase, but now, she was forced to meet the reality that he had successfully hidden these feelings for all of his life. Everything Legolas had said had coincided with what had actually happened between them, making it a credible source.

Her heart still burned for Aragorn, and she had faith that she would take her love with her to the grave, whether she had verbalized her love or not. Her heart belonged to that Man and there was nothing that anyone could do to take it from him.

Arathell stared ahead at Aragorn's back, watching as he swayed comfortably in his saddle, speaking with the King. She could remember watching him row the boat on the Anduin and thinking of how deeply her feelings ran for him. He made her so happy. He had told her that he loved her. He had told her that she was his One.

At that moment, Arathell quite despised herself. How could she still have been so blind? She did not desire to have a Man like Aragorn love her, but he did. And he told her that she was his One. And he had told her accurately that he could not choose his One. So why was she really giving him away? If his commitment ran so deeply with her that he could never love another, then why was she being so forceful about her rejection? He loved her! And whether she was selfish or not, she knew that she could not be more mad if she gave him up. She was hurting him and she was hurting herself with her stupid decision.

He needed to know. He needed to know how much she loved him and how she wanted him for forever.

She had no idea how to approach him with her apology; that was the only issue. She knew that she had hurt him. He had been frank about that and she could not begin to think of a way that she could make it up to him while also conferring her actual feelings.

Arathell clicked at Dunwulf and urged him forward, closer to Aragorn. When she was beside him on Hasufel, she gave him a small smile. He beamed at her and she sighed, grateful that he was at least not averse to her presence. They rode beside one another for hours, neither of them saying anything, but it made her feel better than she had in days.

"You are quiet," he mentioned, startling her.

She gave him a tiny smile. "I am thinking," she relayed.

"About pleasant things, I hope?" he remarked, tilting his head to her with a playful smile.

Her grin grew. "As a matter of fact, yes: very pleasant things," she answered.

He met her gaze for a moment and she felt her heart beat faster. His mind shamelessly showed the love he felt for her at that moment, and she knew that he was purposefully pushing that thought into her mind. Arathell allowed herself to blush and look away.

How strange it felt to flirt with one she already belonged to – even though he did not know that. She felt like they had taken several steps backward in their relationship, but to a time they had never truly had before. For some time now, they had acted as if they already belonged to one another and had completely skipped the primitive forms of a relationship. They had never openly flirted with one another before – either being together or being unofficially together.

"What were you and Legolas discussing?" he asked and she looked back at him.

She scoffed, thinking of a proper answer. "We spoke of what it means to be an Elf," she said gently.

"Three thousand years and you still do not know?" he remarked with an arched brow.

"Some things are not learned until one is of three thousand years," she retorted.

"He is but two thousand," he reminded.

"Hence the discussing," she said simply. "What were you and the King discussing?"

He sighed in surrender. "We were reliving old adventures. He remembers me quite well, it seems."

"You are a difficult Man to forget," she told him softly.

Aragorn seemed pleased with her words and even seemed speechless for a moment. "He remembers you as well," he finally told her. "Of course, he remembers you by another name."

"Ah, yes, I was wondering how long it would take him to finally wish for that conversation with me. I remember him in his youth when you and I were still traveling together."

"You have not aged a day, my lady," she heard and looked to see the King on her side. She bowed her head in respect and thanked him. "The lady Shadow makes quite an impression. There are even some old warriors amongst us that remember you fondly."

"I remember them fondly as well, Your Majesty. Your House has long preserved good, honorable Men. Rohan does have a special place in my heart," she told him.

Théoden nodded with pride and looked at his Men, carrying their assorted luggage. "I am told that you met my sister-son, Éomer," he continued.

Aragorn stiffened slightly at her side and she could sense possessiveness emanating from him. "I have. My meeting with him was rather brief though and I was not terribly focused on the conversation. You see, at the time, I was distraught with grief for the loss of my friends, or what I thought of as a loss."

The King nodded once more. "Yes, of course. Éomer is a wise soul. He likely understood your inability to properly speak."

"He did strike me that way, yes," she affirmed with a smile. "I am sure that he will follow in his uncle's footsteps to become just as wise a King as he is a soul."

Théoden's face fell slightly. "We can only hope. Perhaps my house will continue, but perhaps it will fall, along with its people."

Arathell gently rested her hand on the King's arm. "Do not think these things now. There will be time for that later. Now we must focus on ensuring the safety of your people."

He nodded unsurely and cleared his throat. "I know that my welcome to you was not very grateful or kingly, and I wish to apologize for my behavior."

She shook her head. "I understand, my lord."

"Good."

Up ahead, she noticed Gimli and Éowyn conversing merrily about Dwarf-women, and her ears instantly turned to the conversation. It was all playful, concerning how it was that the females were differentiated from the males and how difficult it could be at times. Éowyn turned back to look at them, her eyes focusing on Aragorn alone. "It's the beards," he whispered, making the gesture. She playfully hushed him before turning back to Gimli. A moment later, Éowyn's laugh was heard amongst the Men and everyone seemed to smile at the sound.

In another instant, Gimli's horse bounded forward, throwing the heavy Dwarf from the saddle onto the ground. Arathell herself let out a laugh of her own, at which she earned many looks, but she did not focus on them, only on Aragorn's attention to her. She smiled in satisfaction and watched Gimli get up unharmed.

"I have not seen my niece smile for a long time," Théoden said thoughtfully. "She was a girl when they brought her father back dead – cut down by Orcs." Arathell frowned and looked ahead at the Woman in question. "She watched her mother succumb to grief. And she was left alone to tend her King in growing fear, doomed to wait on an old man who should have loved her as a father."

"She is strong," Aragorn said kindly. "And I do believe that she does not feel as though she is unloved by you. She does not fear you."

"So what does she fear then?" Théoden retorted.

"A cage," Aragorn replied and Arathell turned her gaze again to the smiling Woman.

"A silly fear for a Woman," the King murmured.

"A legitimate fear, my lord," Arathell disputed. "Long have women of all races been treated like glass and as the property of another. There are many things that our sex wishes to do that cannot be done in many realms. We can love just as heartily as males and our desire to protect that which we love is just as strong. But we are denied the ability to protect such things. What else are we to do but fear confinement? Its hand reaches for each of us and threatens to make us bystanders to the world's doom. And we cannot do anything about it." She looked over to the Men, Théoden with shock written on his features and Aragorn with pride. "I see much of myself in her, my lord. A cage may sound silly to those who have never had to fear for it. But to us, the bars are always closing in around us and we are permitted to do nothing but wait for them to crash upon us."

"It is for her protection," Théoden disagreed.

"Perhaps that is how you see it. But just because her physical form is sheltered, that does not mean that her mind is joyful. It is rare to see in a Woman, but I fear that should you keep her locked away from the truth of the world, she will find some way to break free of the confinement you have set on her. She does not strike me as one who would sit by and do nothing while the world falls to pieces around her. You say she lost her parents when she was a girl? What more urging does one need to want to fight to protect what little she has left? She has lost those who gave her life. Can you imagine how she fears for those who have raised her? And can you imagine how helpless she feels because you hide her from the truth?"

"Arathell," Aragorn murmured. His hand fell on top of hers and she looked away, only now noticing that she had a thin film of tears covering her eyes and that her voice had escalated in volume.

"I take my leave," she heard the King say and she could only nod in response. Aragorn's hand remained on top of hers and she took a deep shuddering breath.

"You both have faced different demons, Arathell," Aragorn whispered. "Her trials are not your own."

"That does not mean that I do not understand her strife. My father was just as harsh with me about my desire to protect my world. He craved to protect me, but he only hurt me in his refusal and I hid from him for fifty years, Aragorn," she told him. "For fifty years, I dwelt in his house, but never once did he come to me. He was stubborn and he dismissed my feelings as though they did not matter. Can you imagine my hurt?"

"Arathell," Aragorn said again and took her hand completely, holding it as they had always done. Their palms clashed to one another and she squeezed tightly. "There is no need to relive that hurt. What has been done is done. You have received your wish –"

"But she hasn't," she interrupted. "If fifty years out of my three thousand can hurt me this way, can you imagine what even five of her twenty could do to her? I have been given my chance to prove myself capable. Time is running out, Aragorn. If the King does nothing, then he will lose her completely and in every way he fears."

He shook his head. "I do not see it that way, Arathell. Love is powerful and even if he does deny her, she will go on loving him because I believe she understands that there may come a day too soon where she will not be able to say it. She would not have a grudge be the last thing her uncle thinks of or her brother or herself." He paused and looked at their hands carefully. "Today, I think it is more important than ever to tell those you love that you do love them, simply because they could be taken away when it is too late."

Arathell swallowed and retrieved her hand, looking firmly ahead. She knew what it was he was trying to accomplish. And she understood him better than he thought she did. But at the moment, she would not tell him she loved him like this. She would not say it in their retreat to a fortress with hundreds of people around them. She would not say it as though it were a casual thing. She would only say it when the feeling inside of her was too much to contain and there were no other words to use but those three. Saying them now in the midst of him comforting her was not what she wished to do and he would have to tolerate that. He would know of her love eventually.

* * *

 **Alright, everyone! We are almost there! Please let me know what you all are thinking! Especially you Gimli lovers – I extended that scene with his lecture just for you!**

 **Alright onto my note: In BDS, I made mention of Arathell and Aragorn riding together in Rohan to assist King Thengel of Rohan. With the timeline that I have created, Arathell and Aragorn's friendship however didn't begin until four years after Thengel died, according to the Appendices. So the way that I wrote it is impossible in relation to the Appendices. But, it has been posted and too much has been written and posted for me to rework it to make everything fit. I sincerely apologize for this. I endeavor to create Arathell's universe in a way that meshes almost entirely with the timeline that Tolkien created, and I screwed up on this count. I realized my flaw when writing the one-shot.**

 **SO. The easiest thing that I can do/say is have you guys imagine that their friendship was created BEFORE Thengel died, so that they would have the opportunity to have adventures together. Thengel dies in 2980, and I wrote that the friendship begins in 2984. So just imagine that maybe the friendship actually begins in… let's say… 2964, a whole twenty years earlier. Theoretically, I could go back and rework the posting, but that would mean rearranging the order of chapters already posted, and I don't quite know if I want to fiddle with that. All I ask is that you all forgive me for my timeline issues and let me continue on with my fun anyway. Haha**

 **Please check out the one-shot dedicated to** _Woman of Letters!_ **Again, it is called** _Spars and Scars._ **Leave a review, or at least check it out, cause there will be reference to it, I think. Thanks for the wonderful idea! And rest assured, we have enough writing left that we can get to 600 reviews and award another! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! You all are amazing!**

 **Check out the music! It is PERFECT!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	57. Chapter 57

**Hey guys! Hope all you Americans had a happy (and safe) Fourth of July! I know I did… didn't set anything on fire this year, which is always a plus.**

 **I didn't get to hear from a bunch of you this time around, which is kinda saddening. I miss you guys bunches! Don't leave meeee…! Haha no worries.**

 **Alright, well, some people have been inquiring after Aragorn's "death" scene and whether or not it was going to be a thing, so I give you… this chapter. Have fun and PLEASE let me know what you think. :D**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Four – We Don't Need

Sound of Silence - Simon & Garfunkel/Disturbed

"Hello darkness, my old friend  
I've come to talk with you again  
Because a vision softly creeping  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping  
And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains within the sound of silence"

* * *

That evening, she stayed beside Aragorn, even fitting her sleeping roll beside his. He did not mention it to her, but he did seem incredibly pleased and even surprised.

She sat beside him as he sharpened his sword, with her head resting in her hand. "You treat it as if it were a Woman," she remarked dryly.

He paused from his ministrations and looked at her. "You would know, I suppose," he carefully answered.

"Insolent Man," she snapped, fully understanding the game he played. He was playing it very closely, knowing that at any moment, she could turn and walk away or say something harsh. Perhaps he had already guessed at her reason for reform and their resurrected friendship.

He grinned at her answer with the smile that made her stomach flutter and he even chuckled a little. Arathell had never known just how truly flirtatious he could be and it was a delightful shock to her that he was willing to be so forward, despite her supposed refusal of him. He had to know that she had turned a new leaf as far as their relationship was concerned. It was impossible to think otherwise. Nevertheless, she would keep him on his toes, deciding that she liked this game and realizing that she wanted to win it.

"Wipe that ridiculous grin off of your face," she said. "It shows all of your wrinkles."

He laughed again and looked as if he was about to retort when Éowyn approached them. Arathell stiffened at her presence, now at least feeling rightfully jealous. The Woman did not once look at Arathell, focused solely on the Ranger. "I made some stew. It isn't much, but it's hot." Finally she acknowledged Arathell. "I have only one bowl."

Arathell held up a hand. "Elves have a higher constitution than your race. Lord Aragorn ought to eat." Truthfully, Arathell could smell the stew from the pot, and she had to mask her face from the stench that entered her nostrils.

"If you are sure," Éowyn said softly. "I could retrieve another bowl?"

"There is no need, my lady," Arathell soothed.

Éowyn smiled and scooped some of the stew into the little wooden bowl and handed it to Aragorn, along with her solitary spoon. "Thank you," Aragorn muttered. He scooped some of the food up, a brain-like thing held on the spoon and Arathell bit her lip. He carefully put the spoon into his mouth and paused, suddenly looking up at Éowyn to see that she was still there and waiting for his approval. Arathell watched with amusement now as he swirled the sustenance around in his mouth, nodding and humming. She did not need her gift to know how awful it tasted, but it was admirable just how hard he was trying to not hurt the Woman's feelings. "It's good," he finally croaked.

"Really?" Éowyn exclaimed happily, beginning to turn away from them.

Aragorn gave Arathell a look of disgust and began dumping the contents onto the ground when Éowyn suddenly turned around to speak once more. The steaming liquid poured over the sides still into Aragorn's awaiting hands and she saw him flinch. It was all Arathell could manage to not laugh at him, biting her tongue and looking anywhere but at that grimace. "My uncle told me a strange thing. He said you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather. But he must be mistaken. He said both of you did."

"King Théoden has a good memory. He was only a small child at the time," Aragorn replied.

Again, the Woman did not pay any mind whatsoever to Arathell and crouched down to look more carefully at the Ranger. "Then you must be at least sixty," she said in amazement. "Seventy?" she tried again when Aragorn looked bashful. "You cannot be eighty?"  
"Eighty-seven," Aragorn finally surrendered.

All became clear in Éowyn's eyes and she stood up and looked down at him in disbelief. "You are one of the Dúnedain, a descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life." Aragorn gave a gentle nod in answer. "It was said that your race had passed into legend."

"There are few of us left," he explained – a likely overused melancholy answer that somehow still showcased the longing he housed for a world and life unknown to him. "The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago."

"I'm sorry," Éowyn rushed. "Please, eat," she bid and she stood by as Aragorn finished the stew.

Éowyn departed at last after the dinner. Arathell grinned, eager to take his mind away from the sadness that came with the telling of his people's history, however brief. "That looked simply delectable," she commented.

"A friend would have offered to eat some of it," he rounded.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But a _true_ friend would have done exactly as I did, just to laugh."

Aragorn smiled at her, again, conveying that love he felt for her and this time she met his gaze calmly and gave him a gentle smile. "I have missed you," he said in Sindarin.

Arathell felt her smile soften at the words. "I have been here all along," she responded in kind.

"In body, but not in mind," he refuted. "What has brought you back?"

She scrunched her nose a little. "I don't want to talk about that," she answered at last. She sighed and rolled over onto her back to look up at the stars. "The last time I really looked at them was while we were on the river still," she mentioned.

He cocked an eyebrow and joined her on the ground on his bed roll, looking upwards towards the heavens with her. "They look brighter."

Arathell smiled sadly. "They look colder to me," she admitted. "It almost looks like Varda has forsaken her skies and those who love them."

"No," he disagreed. "I have never loved them as much as I do now. And I believe that she loves Middle Earth more than ever."

Arathell chuckled once and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Are we still speaking of the stars or are we talking about something different now?"

"You tell me," he replied in a voice above a whisper. He rolled over onto his side, looking at her.

She swallowed and rolled to face him. Arathell opened her lips, ready to tell him, but the words lodged themselves in her throat. His grey eyes were waiting for her but she could not say a word. He sighed and rolled over to his other side. Arathell felt a tear on her cheek but wiped at it harshly. She could only roll over as well, facing away from him and pray to the Valar that they could give her strength. It wasn't fair to him, but she could not stop the fear of committing her broken pieces to him. Arathell knew he would not hurt her and would not break her further, but trust as deep as a soulful love… it was something she couldn't stop herself from fearing.

"One day, I will be forced to stop waiting," she heard and she bit her lip.

"You should have stopped a long time ago," Arathell found herself saying and wanted to hit herself at how unbelievable the words sounded coming out of her mouth.

"You do not mean that," Aragorn retorted.

* * *

 **March 5, 3019 – Rohan Plains**

Arathell could not bring herself to ride alongside him that day. In fact, she had gotten up earlier than him and pushed her things away before he could wake.

She prepared Dunwulf and came up to Legolas's side as she had the day before. He had helped her realize her stupidity regarding her decision to push Aragorn away. Perhaps he could help her muster the courage she needed to actually tell Aragorn the feelings that she had for him.

"Yesterday seemed to go well," he commented as soon as she approached, still on foot and holding on to Dunwulf by his reins. "I do not think I have heard you laugh in a long while. It was refreshing."

Arathell smiled at him and allowed another guard to take Dunwulf while she and Legolas marched to the front of the group. Everyone was roused now, and everyone was beginning to make their way along the road once more. She kept her eyes and other senses alert, but she did focus on her conversation with her fellow Elf. "I am afraid that I have created quite a pit for myself, Legolas. I understand now that my desire to push him away was hopeless and that he will continue loving me as he always has. And I know that I would be a fool to give him away as I tried to. I want to make things right again and actually tell him of my feelings and how deeply they run for him. But it seems that every time I try, I simply am unable. He is growing upset with me – more so than he already was. I think before it was easier because I simply ignored him and did not allow him any time with me whatsoever. I was even mean to him. Now it is different because I am treating him as I had when we were…"

"Taken with each other?" he supplied.

"Yes, I suppose that would be the phrase. Now that I am treating him this way again, he is more disturbed by my refusal. Maybe it seems as if I am only trying to make him feel better about loving me while not loving him and hurting him because of it. I want to tell him, Legolas. I truly do, but I cannot."

"Why?" he retorted. "You have always been outspoken about your thoughts before, haven't you?"

"Yes, but this is different. It is not a matter of the mind. The feelings within my heart are not so easily settled and do not come to my lips as easily as a thought would."

"You are afraid to give him that power over you then?" he supposed. She cocked her head at him and continued looking around their area. "You have told others before that you love them and they have hurt you time and time again. Maybe you are incapable of telling Aragorn of your feelings because you think as soon as you do, he will do something to hurt you and he will know with certainty that he has hurt you because you made yourself vulnerable to him." She did not reply. Her eyes fell closed for a moment and she lowered her head. "It is a reasonable fear; at least that is what I am told."

She pursed her lips. "I do not think that he would hurt me," she said.

"That is what your mind says. And you even said that your heart struggles to speak for itself," he reminded.

"I am running out of time," she mentioned.

"Yes, you are. But that is nothing that I can possibly hope to help you with. Either you forfeit that control that you so desperately crave, or you live forever with regret for never living the life that you could."

Arathell cleared her throat and gestured to the rolling hills before them. "If we are going to give the others the impression that we are looking for danger, then I do believe that that is what we should actually be doing." Legolas laughed beside her but he did nothing to disagree with her reasoning. "Part of me wonders if it would have been more prudent to stay at Edoras."

"It is indefensible," he reminded.

"But also unexpected," she retorted. "The snake left Rohan, likely to slither back into his hole at Orthanc. I would think that Grima has learned the mind of the King maybe too well. Don't you feel as if this expedition was doomed even before we left?" she asked him.

Legolas shrugged beside her. "I suppose that is something we will learn soon."

They remained quiet for a time and there had yet to be a sign that anything was amiss. With less than a day to Helm's Deep, Arathell wondered if it was actually possible that they were going to make it to the fortress without any issue. She turned back to find Aragorn in the crowds and saw him walking beside Éowyn who was not doing anything to conceal her staring. Arathell felt jealousy stir in her heart again and she debated walking back to them.

"Arathell," Legolas whispered.

"What?" she snapped, jerking her head to glare at him, but stopped immediately when she saw the look of concentration on his face. His fingers were tightly clasped around his drawn bow as he stared out into oblivion. "Guards!" she called to the troops behind her. Two horsemen rode up beside them and stared at her expectantly. "Go look on ahead," she ordered.

They left quickly and she waited, feeling a darkness take over her soul. There were growls in her ears and she suddenly knew. Her glance fell on Legolas who gave her a stiff nod of confirmation.

A loud yelp pierced the air and she jumped back, her eyes scanning the hills for any sign. She heard one of the Men scream and then loud roars exploded over the plains. Her hand fell instantly to Ristor's hilt but Legolas shook his head. "Bows," he commanded.

Her reaction was instant, stringing an arrow to her bow and waiting… just waiting. She could not see what was going on behind her now with the others. That was not important. All that mattered was what was coming toward them. When Wargs erupted over the sides of the hills, she aimed carefully, thinking steadily of all of the training that Legolas had given her in Imladris. Her fingers released arrow after arrow, each of them finding their mark. She had prayed that the pack was small, but it seemed that Saruman was wise enough to send many of the foul beasts in his stead. They would not stop their avalanche, and she realized that this would not be a battle won without swords.

Behind her, horses trampled on the earth and she turned to see them charging directly at her. Her eyes landed on Dunwulf, being dragged along by Aragorn. She ran at her animal, taking the reins and at the last second, flinging herself onto him with a grunt. She righted herself quickly to see Legolas perched on Arod with Gimli in tow, but that was all that she could see.

The King's charge was nonexistent to her, and she put away her bow and pulled Ristor from her sheath, gleaming in the poor sunlight and waiting with baited breath for blood.

As always, it was silent as they rode hard toward the adversary. Her ears were locked away and all she could see was red and death ahead of her. When their battalion clashed against the Wargs and their riders, the sound was still gone from her ears. She swung with precision and held tightly to the reins. Dunwulf struggled and nickered in fear, but there was nothing she could do now to calm his frayed nerves.

She beheaded one and then felt her horse fall to the ground, throwing her twenty yards across the ground. She gasped and croaked in pain but found herself climbing to her feet and ducking the swipe of a rider. She swung under his arm before grabbing it and throwing her weight back until the filth fell to the ground, her sword already impaling him. The Warg roared at the death of its rider and ran at her and she met him bravely, running just as hard to leap over the animal at the last moment. When it turned, her sword arm fell over its neck, killing it.

Arathell was tackled to the ground not a second later, but thankfully not by a Warg. The Orc's body still fell heavily on her however and she suddenly felt its teeth bite down hard on her neck, tearing the skin. She screamed in fury and tore her neck from its mouth to bang her head against his. It reeled back in surprise and she rolled over instantly and broke its neck with her bare hands. Only then did she realize her sword had been knocked from her hand when the beast had thrown her down and she gathered it back to her quickly.

The battle was nearly over and the runts that still had their lives were fleeing from the scene. Her vision was disoriented and when she reached to her neck, she felt the skin hanging loosely and blood was still pouring from the wound. She already knew without needing to try that she could not heal herself at present. She was exhausted and her body was shaking, but she did not fear so greatly that she thought she would die without healing.

She walked clumsily around, finding Gimli stacked underneath two Wargs and an Orc. Legolas hurried over and together, they pushed the weight from him and the Dwarf speedily got up, already pretending that such an incident did not happen.

Her eyes scanned the carnage and the noises of the battle were slowly coming back to her and she blinked away the pain in her neck. "Arathell…" Legolas gasped, reaching for her.

"Don't touch me; it will heal," she dismissed, though with blood still pouring, she was beginning to wonder if that was truly the case.

Her eyes fell on Dunwulf, pierced by an arrow in the breast. He lay unmoving on the ground and tears finally popped into her eyes. She began walking toward her fallen animal when she heard Gimli yell, "Aragorn?!"

Her blood ran cold and she quickly began looking everywhere, her heart beating faster and faster in her chest despite the blood now flowing just as equally fast from her wound. Hasufel was standing alone, stamping his foot impatiently. He did not have a rider. "No," she muttered to herself.

She ran to join Legolas, bent over a dying Orc, Gimli's axe at his throat. "He took a little tumble off the cliff," the beast growled happily.

"You lie," Legolas growled, but she fell to the ground. It gave a last gurgled laughed before she watched it lie still, its eyes cast up to the greying sky.

"It cannot be true," she heard Théoden soothe but when Legolas pulled a glowing green stone from the stiff hand, her whole world crashed around her. "What is that?" the King asked, but it sounded numb and dull in her ears.

"The Elfstone," she croaked. "It is…" she could not finish her sentence before she fell even further, casting her body on the cold, unforgiving ground. She could feel her shoulders shaking, but she didn't know if it was from tears or from shock.

Arms wrapped themselves around her and it was then that she knew she screamed. The arms pulled away instantly, only to try again a moment later.

She kicked and hit at the hands that groped for her, tears taking the last piece of her vision at last until everything was a blur.

The sounds were like echoes – distant and far away from her – and the smell of blood filled every pore of her body, making her struggle harder against her captor.

All she wanted was to throw herself from that cliff and follow Aragorn.

She had promised him to follow him into whatever darkness he went through and she meant to follow through with her promises to him.

Every bone in her body seemed to break and every muscle tore as she was pulled away from the scene. She fought harder, but she felt her strength dwindling.

Her fear from being parted from him overtook her muscles and her wounds, and she felt her neck's gaping tear stitch itself together.

Arathell fought harder and finally broke free, running, running, running.

The rock was beneath her feet.

Only a few more steps…

Arms wound themselves around her again, and these were arms that she knew had restrained her in the past – familiar and tight, but not the arms that she had just broken free of.

She struggled and screamed, not caring if Sauron himself could hear her. "How could he leave? He promised! He promised not to leave!" She could hear words of her loudness, potentially alerting any stragglers, but she did not care, screaming out in utter rage. "He promised!" Tears were pouring from her eyes and the arms tried to embrace her in a comforting way, but her sobs racked her body so hard that the arms were more focused on making sure she did not slip from them. "He promised!" she wailed. "How could he do this to me?"

"Shut her up!"

The arms tightened. "You wouldn't dare –"

Blackness.

Her eyes opened reluctantly and she did not have even a second to breathe before the memory came swooping back. She wanted to scream again, but something clogged her mouth, so she struggled, kicking and hitting before she realized that she had been roped down.

"You will hurt yourself if you continue," she heard Legolas say behind her, squeezing her tightly in a makeshift embrace. "This was not my idea. The King insisted. He feared you would alert the Enemy." She found herself sobbing into the cloth. "Arathell, please," he pleaded into her ear. "If you calm down, I swear to you, I will release you, but you must stay quiet." Her body was shaking now, but she could not help herself. "I will take the gag out, but please… I do not want to do this to you."

She could finally breathe through her mouth and she gasped and coughed instantly, taking in the air and feeling it break harshly on her lungs. But her body would not stop shaking and the tears wouldn't stop flowing. "Hit me, Legolas." He stiffened behind her. "Please, hit me. I can't…" she choked out. "I don't want to be awake. I can't breathe. I can't… Legolas, kill me. I can't. He's gone. I can't do this. I can't. Please," she begged.

"I will not kill you, Arathell," he growled.

"Then hit me," she sobbed. "Hit me again." He hesitated. "If you do not, I will scream." Still, he did nothing behind her. "Hit me!" she yelled loudly, catching everyone's attention. "Hit me, you child! Coward!"

Legolas still did nothing but she saw one of the King's Men approach. His sword was drawn and the pommel came down hard against her temple and she collapsed in Legolas' arms completely.

When she awoke again, her body was untied, but they were still on horseback. "I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing easily that she was awake.

Arathell squeezed her eyes closed. "I love him," she murmured. "I love him. I love him. He never knew. I should have said. You were right. I love him. I'm his. He should have known. He did know. I just never had the courage to say it. What do I do? I have nothing. He was… everything. And now I have nothing. He left me here… all alone… he promised he would never leave me…"

"You have Kara," he murmured. "You have to live to see your promises through to her, don't you remember? She will not want you gone. You are her mother and she needs you."

"Legolas…" she sighed, not bothering to wipe away the tears. "I'm his. I love Kara. But my soul belongs to Aragorn. I don't believe I have a choice."

"You will die of grief?" he demanded, now sounding slightly angry.

Arathell could not reply anymore. Her eyes were settled straight ahead, seeing the growing fortress in the distance. If she stared close enough, she could see people running to and fro along the walls.

The gates rose before her not an hour later, and she barely acknowledged Legolas helping her down. She saw Éowyn out of the corner of her eye and debated telling her just exactly where Aragorn's heart belonged. The girl would likely stalk around, pretending that she was more hurt than any of them. _She_ didn't know _anything_. "Arathell, don't. You told her to pursue her feelings, and feelings are what she has. Do not try to take those from her."

Arathell breathed deeply and allowed Legolas to lead her away.

She was taken to a bedchamber first and Legolas told her to rest and sleep – try to escape the pain that she was feeling.

Arathell quickly found now that sleeping was absolutely impossible. Everything in her body hurt, but the time for sleeping was over. She needed to admit to herself freely that she had lost her chance. She should have told Aragorn everything, and she should have said those words long ago when they still had time to actually be together and to be happy. But she had foolishly given him away. Thinking about how terribly she had hurt after Boromir's death was nothing to how she felt now with Aragorn being gone. He was her One and she was his.

The only solace she had now was that knowledge. Their souls were bound together and despite Legolas and his words about Kara, she knew that her soul would not be able to go on without Aragorn. It was different when she was trying to simply push him away. Because she would know that at least he was alive and that he at least had a chance for happiness. It was completely different now and he was gone from this world for forever and there was nothing that Arathell could do about it.

Now, her only prayer to the Valar was that her death be swift. She did not want to have to wait any longer than she had to, to be reunited with him again.

But in the meantime, when she thought of Aragorn, she knew that Aragorn would not approve of her waiting to die. She would fight this darkness until her dying breath. She did not want to go on, but if she could prevent another woman losing her love, then that was what she would do. She would fight and she would do everything she could for as long as the Valar gave her.

With that resolve, she left the bedchamber and walked through the halls of her new makeshift home. Everyone looked at her warily and often shied away from her, but when Arathell approached Éowyn, the Woman met her gaze with a soft smile. "I cannot imagine how you must be feeling," she remarked. Arathell hummed in agreement and began helping her take inventory of the supplies they had brought. Despite her agreement to herself, she could not form words now and everything was still too painful for her to talk about anyway. "My uncle told me of your reaction."

"Please, my lady," Arathell choked out. "I cannot speak of this."

"It was you all along, wasn't it?" she continued. "You are the one he loved."

Her referral to him and his love as being a past thing carved at her and she threw down the blanket she was holding and glared at the Woman. "Yes," she snapped. "He loved me. He chose me. And I was foolish enough to give him away. I was foolish to fight my own love for him and try to push him into your arms. You would have loved him truly; I know that. But I love him still! There is no other for me, and I am sure that there will be another for you. He is dead, and there is nothing now to be done about it. Neither of us can ever tell him of how we feel so it is best that we do not speak of it, because unlike you, there are things that I must do before I give myself over to grief. He would not have me tarry in my depression until it completely overtakes me."

Éowyn fell silent and Arathell noticed that the girl was quietly weeping, but at the moment, there was nothing that she wanted to do about it to soothe her. She could not even soothe herself, so soothing the girl who wanted to steal Aragorn from her was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment.

They were quiet for a long time and Éowyn's tears finally disbanded and they focused on their work. She didn't know how long they worked together like that, but it was long enough that Arathell was starting to feel guilty for her words. "He told me," Éowyn muttered. "Just before the attack, we were talking." Arathell said nothing, but she did pause to look firmly at the Woman. "I told him that I knew he had given his heart to another. I wanted to know more about the fantastic Woman that had to have held his heart. It shocked me to learn that it was not a Woman at all that had ensnared him in the way you had mentioned. He said he loved an Elven Lady and that she was the only one that he could ever love."

Arathell swiped at the tear that rolled from her eye. "I wanted him to be happy," Arathell said. "I thought that he would be… unhappy if he stayed with me. I have several people who were important to me on this journey. One of them you may remember. He came through Rohan – Lord Boromir of Gondor."

Éowyn looked away. "I remember him. He was a fine Man. When I met him, I was sure that he would make a better ruler than his father. I did not know that he had gone with you."

"He loved me," Arathell admitted brusquely. "And there was a time when I thought that I would be able to return that love, but… I later learned that my heart had long belonged to Aragorn, for longer than I had ever realized. And when I told Boromir, he was nothing but understanding. And then he died. He died in my arms, telling me to be happy with Aragorn. I wish I knew why I did what I did, pushing Aragorn away in the way I did."  
"He told me that you were trying to protect him," Éowyn mentioned. "He knew that you feared for his happiness. But he also said that you were afraid. You don't often accept happiness, and I suppose he must have been referring to Boromir's death when he said that something frightened you away. But he understood. And you should know that he does not blame you for doing what you did."

Arathell coughed on the lump in her throat, finding herself only capable of nodding in appreciation for Éowyn's words.

She couldn't say anything more about it and she focused on working with Éowyn. She noticed that at some point, little Freda had approached her with her mother's hand in tow. Arathell had smiled and had accepted the gratitude from the mother. But Arathell didn't remember much of the conversation.

"Do you regret not telling him you love him?" Éowyn asked suddenly.

It was past midday, and how everyone's excitement from the morning was reduced as fatigue took over, only wanting the chores to be completed.

Arathell was surprised by the suddenness, but not by the question itself. It was something she had prepared herself to be asked many times. "Of course I do," she replied hastily.

"And if you saw him again, you would tell him?" Éowyn continued.

"Yes, of course, Éowyn," she barked back, becoming frustrated now. She did not like 'what if' questions in general and given their topic, it only hurt more to think about the things that she should have and could have done if she still had the time.

"It seems that he wasn't ready to leave you yet either," the Woman said tenderly, looking over Arathell's shoulder to something behind her.

* * *

 **And Woo Wee THAT was a roller coaster there. Let me know what you are all thinking, my lovelies! Pretty please? I think a reconciliation between our Aras is due, and I'm curious to see how you liked Aragorn's "death" sequence.**

 **Check out the music! I understand that Disturbed's version is only a cover, but I would advocate listening to that version as that is the mood that I am going for with this chapter. Thanks!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	58. Chapter 58

**Hello, my friends! Thanks for all of the reviews for last chapter! I don't have much to say here, so… I guess this is the moment you've all been waiting for… For like 58 chapters now… Haha thanks for being patient! Hope you like it and please leave me a review with your thoughts!**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.**

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Part Four – We Don't Need

Love Remains the Same - Gavin Rossdale

"I, never thought that I  
Had anymore to give  
You're pushing me so far  
Here I am without you  
Drink, to all that we have lost  
Mistakes we have made  
Everything will change  
But, love remains the same"

* * *

 _"It seems that he wasn't ready to leave you yet either," the Woman said tenderly, looking over Arathell's shoulder to something behind her._

The words made her body swivel around instantly, and she collapsed down into the supplies when her eyes landed on him. Bloodied, battered, and tired, he had never looked more incredible than he did at that moment. He was alive. Aragorn was there, just in front of her and speaking with Legolas, who passed him what she could only assume to be the Elfstone. Her heart was beating erratically in her throat and she wanted to call out to him, but her voice was locked away beneath her heart. Tears came into her vision for yet another time, but these tasted different on her tongue. They were happy. They were a second chance and that was something she had never imagined to have before.

Aragorn began walking away, deeper into the fortress, and it was then that she felt hands fall on her shoulders, hoisting her up. "He's alive," she said hoarsely.

"Yes, and you had best get to him before someone else manages to steal his time," Éowyn encouraged. "I am sure that he wishes to see you more than anyone at the moment. He does not yet know that you survived."

"He asked about you the moment I intercepted him," a gruff voice announced. Gimli had appeared from seemingly nowhere, but he was grinning from ear to ear. "But that lass is right. You had better to go to him now. He said that he also needed to trade words with the King."

"Go on!" Éowyn gave her a push and Arathell nearly fell, her legs shaky and knees seconds from beating against each other.

Gimli laughed heartily and clasped her arm. "I will escort you, Lady Shadow, though perhaps now you should be called Lady Ghost."

"I daresay 'Lady Queen' would be better," Éowyn said with a cheeky smile. Arathell let out a coughing laugh at the words but bowed her head in gratitude to Éowyn who merely smiled wider with tears in her eyes.

Gimli dragged her on through the halls, steadying her shaking. Arathell did not know what to think. A terrified part of her wondered truly if he was alive and she was only making him up in her mind. Maybe she was already dead from grief and this was what the afterlife was like. Maybe she was only to be reunited with her deceased love. And maybe there was a chance that she was alive and that he was equally alive as well, waiting for her as he always was. She did not know what to think, but she knew that she did not want it to end, whatever version of reality she was currently in.

The Dwarf had to keep pulling her along; she couldn't seem to move.

It wasn't until they saw the throne room – its wooden doors shut – that her feet quickened their pace. Anything to see him again alive – that was all she wanted. Her arm pulled itself free from Gimli and she charged at the door, pausing when she finally reached it. Would he be there? Was he real?

She heard Gimli huffing and puffing as he tried to catch up to her, but she steeled her mind and grinded her teeth together and gave a harsh push on the door. Her breath was stuck in her throat as her eyes instantly took in the room and its people. There was blond and brown everywhere, but her eyes immediately landed on black, square in the center behind the King.

She froze when his gaze met hers and she nearly began shaking again when Gimli caught up to her at last, taking her arm once more. Her eyes did not move from the grey before her. Arathell wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him and kiss those lips. By the Valar, she almost wanted to slap him for leaving her, but her feet were frozen to the ground, denying either motion.

Aragorn no doubt sensed her immense relief and she could even see it in his mind as well. Had he worried for her safety as she had worried and cried for his?

Arathell swallowed uncomfortably and shakily bobbed her head for the smallest of seconds. "My lords," she whispered, her voice gone.

"Lady Arathell," the King greeted with a small bow of his own. "Now, unfortunately, is not the greatest of times for an update on inventories. You will have to wait."

She shook her head fiercely, finally feeling her voice grow in her throat. "I am not a lady in that way, Your Highness," she retorted. "I see before me many warriors and I see clearly enough into your minds to know that there is news – likely coming from one of my company." Her eyes did not sway from Aragorn's. "If there is discord, then I will be made aware of it this instant. Am I not a warrior as well?"

"Helm's Deep will be under attack by nightfall," Aragorn announced. For a moment, the words did not even register in her mind. All she could think was how fair his voice was and how she thought that she would never hear it again. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

Then the words came rushing at her and she blinked, her jaw falling open. "So soon?" she remarked.

He nodded wearily. "I have seen the demons of Isengard. They already are reaching. They swarm much like ants toward the fortress with numbers that are far greater than our own. We do not have much time."

Her head fell to the side, arching her eyebrows in a silent question. "Ten thousand," he answered. Her eyes fell closed when she realized how devastating his words were. There was no time to call for aid, but that would be their only help.

"What is being done?" she asked.

"Nothing yet, as you interrupted this council," Théoden snapped, his good mood gone with his mind focused on the upcoming battle.

"Then let us prepare as we can, my lord," she beseeched.

"Do you think I do not know that?" he barked at her.

"My lord," she heard Aragorn murmur.

Théoden steadied himself and then moved swiftly from the chamber with his entourage following closely behind. When Aragorn approached, he froze at her side, neither of them turning completely toward one another. She felt Gimli slip away, leaving the two of them eventually alone in the chamber.

She felt his hand slip into hers and his body angle more toward her, nose pushing into her hair. Arathell shook at the touch and felt tears roll from her eyes. "You are unhurt?" he said gently into her ear. Arathell could only nod and lean her head on his. "I worried." She nodded again. He sighed and she felt him press a tight kiss on her temple and she shook again. "Come. We are needed."

Arathell nodded once more and followed him at last from the chamber. She cursed herself for not being able to say anything in response, but she quite honestly felt overwhelmed. Her heart, mind, and soul had died the moment she thought he had died from falling over that cliff. To suddenly be revived with him was almost too much for her and the love she felt for him was greater than she had ever felt before and it almost scared her. Everything within her was burning for more of him. And instead of having that moment to confess everything to him and to hold him and kiss him, she was forced to face another battle with him. She _was_ thankful to have him at her side and to have these precious moments with him. But that was all that they were – moments. If there were as many as ten thousand coming for them, then what hope did they have? They would die tonight and she still will have lost the life with him that she could have had.

Even knowing that she was most likely going to die, she would not let Aragorn out of her sight. She would follow him, as she promised him, but this time she would be more diligent. Even before their doubtless deaths, she would follow him. And she vowed to herself that she would tell him the truth before it was too late. They would not have the life they craved, but he would know. They would have this night to be outrageously in love and she was not going to waste it.

"I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall," she heard the King proclaim to one of his Men, bringing her from her reverie. They stepped through the front gate, now standing above the causeway. "We will cover the causeway and the gate from above," the King continued, looking up to the landing. They moved out to the great wall, overlooking the ravine before them. Théoden portrayed confidence, but there was no doubt that he and his people were now completely trapped. "No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg," he said proudly. She looked on doubtfully at the gate that was currently being barred.

"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs," Gimli mentioned, holding his axe tight to his chest. "These are Uruk-hai – legions frothing from Saruman's will. A Wizard orchestrates them in ways that Sauron is unable to, despite his own formidable talents. Saruman is a strategist… Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

Théoden approached him and looked down. "I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own Keep," he told him before hastily walking back inside. Aragorn gave Gimli a slap of encouragement as they followed the King through.

They continued to walk along the inner, higher wall, the future battlefield looming with its dark soil. "They will break upon this fortress like water on rock. Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn. We've seen it before," Théoden carried on. "Crops can be re-sown, homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops and villages; they come to destroy its people –down to the last child!" Aragorn rebutted angrily.

Théoden swiftly turned around and forcefully grabbed Aragorn's arm, yanking him in close. Arathell's hand instantly fell to the hilt of her sword, still attached to her side from the long day. "What would have me do?" he demanded. "Look at my Men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be their end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."

He began turning away, but it seemed that Aragorn was not yet ready to give up the fight. "Send out riders, my lord," he impeded. "You must call for aid."

Théoden turned back around, his face almost bored with the notion, yet smug in his knowledge. "And who will come? Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead," he reminded.

"Gondor will answer," Aragorn said confidently.

"Gondor?" Théoden spat, getting far too close to Aragorn for her liking. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gon-" he paused from his hissing and looked away, as if only now remembering who it was he was speaking to. "No, my lord, Aragorn," he said softly. "We are alone."

As soon as the King walked away from them, Aragorn's head dropped. "He is right."

Arathell rested her hand on his forearm. "Do not dwell on it now. I fear that even if Gondor came, they would come to desolation and an overrun fortress with nothing left to protect. This is not your burden."

"Then whose is it, Arathell?" he demanded.

"Sauron's," she said instantly.

"He will not treat it as a burden."

She shrugged a little. "Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow. But I can promise that there will come a day when he will have to answer for his crimes, and then he will regret all of the damage he has caused."

"Do you believe that?" he retorted incredulously.

"Can you?" she said simply. He stared at her and she gave him a soft smile, reaching to rest her hand on his cheek, swiping her thumb on the bone. She felt him relax slightly at her touch and finally nod.

He pressed a quick kiss to the inside of her wrist. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Don't dwell on it now, Aragorn," she replied, withdrawing her hand. "Come away; there is more to be done before the evening."

They made their way toward the caves, where Legolas had told them the women and children were to be hidden away from the battle. Aragorn quickly gave some instructions once he saw them. "They can support the archers from above the gate," he finished at last, turning away.

"Aragorn, you must rest," Legolas said imploringly. "You are no use to us half-alive," he continued.

Aragorn looked at her and she knew that he was asking for her opinion. "I would not have you in this battle at all if it was up to me, and you know that," she said staunchly. "But I know you. And I know that it does not matter what any of us say so carry on with whatever you mean to do now."

He grinned widely at her response and began turning away when a loud cry was heard. "My lord! Aragorn!" Éowyn came rushing up to them all, and Arathell stiffened only slightly. It seemed that the Woman was going to be supportive and hide away her feelings for Aragorn, but Arathell could not be sure completely. Women were much more passionate and often did not like giving away things they wanted – especially good Men. "I am to be sent with the Women into the caves," she told him angrily.

"That is an honorable charge," Aragorn replied.

"To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the Men return," she rambled. "What renown is there in that?" she demanded.

"My lady, a time may come for valor without renown," Aragorn answered softly. "Who then will your people look to in the last defense?"

"Let me stand at your side," she begged and Arathell shifted on her feet, looking at Legolas. The Elf gave her a cheeky grin and she glared.

"It is not in my power to command it," Aragorn dismissed.

"You do not command the others to stay!" Éowyn yelled when they began turning away. "They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you. Because they –" Her eyes fell on Arathell who had her lips pursed, waiting for the final breath of that sentence to be expelled. "I'm sorry," she surrendered and hurriedly walked away towards the caves.

Aragorn turned a little to stare at her retreating form and Arathell could not deny the slight sting she felt when she saw how his eyes trailed after her. As if reading her thoughts, his stormy eyes swiveled to land on her. "Do not dwell it now," he murmured, using her own words as a method to comfort her. He held his hand out for her to take and she stared at it. Her heart was afraid of loving him. He could die as he already once had, or he could love another. She could become so terribly hurt by him that she would die. But she saw the love resonate in his eyes when he was staring at her, and he still had his hand outstretched, waiting to take her own. He could break her heart in so many ways, but she knew that it would be worth it. All she had to do was trust him.

Carefully, she reached to take his hand. He squeezed it tightly, grounding her to that moment, where it was just them, the many surrounding them fading away. He reached for _her_. He wanted _her_ to stay at his side. He would never command. But he wanted _her_ with him. That was what his hand told her. Arathell released a shaky breath and nodded, allowing him to pull her where he wanted.

They moved about through the gathering people for a good long while, neither of them saying anything, but their hands never released each other.

When darkness was growing around them, Arathell's fear grew, wondering if she would ever have her chance to tell him. She needed to tell him.

They all found themselves in the armory, watching as Men young and old took sorry weapons from a great pile within the middle of the chamber. Aragorn had moved forward to inspect the weapons, throwing one back down with disapproval. He stalked back up to them with a grim look on his face. "Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he commented. "These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli remarked.

"Or too few," Legolas added. Aragorn nodded sternly. "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." Everyone paused in the room, staring at him. Legolas did not seem bothered, but she stared at her friend carefully, warning him silently to not say anything further, but he did not look at her. "And they should be," he continued in Sindarin, disguising their conversation. But she was sure that the Men around them could have guessed what was being said. "Three hundred against three thousand?" he said, his light voice weighed down by doubt.

"They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras," Aragorn replied in the language, trying his best to appear hopeful for the others, but she saw in their minds that they did not take his attempt for comfort to heart.

"Aragorn," Legolas murmured dangerously. "They cannot win this battle. They are going to die!"

"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn yelled, now in Common. He stared at them all for a moment before retreating out of the chamber.

Without thinking, she followed him, as she always would, avoiding the fearful gazes of the Men in the chamber who had heard the Elf's true thoughts. She could not begin to imagine their fears, as many of them had never been forced to fight in a battle before, whereas at least she could rely on her skills. But they did not matter now. Only Aragorn mattered at the moment. Keeping to her promise, she was not about to let him out of her sight. She watched him carefully, staying a few paces back to give him the space he craved. Only now, she could not give him a much larger space, as selfish as she was. She needed to at least see him.

Aragorn sat down on one of the steps and looked up at the sky, darkening and billowing with a chance of a thunderstorm. Tonight, there were no stars. After a few moments, she carefully moved to sit beside him. "Do not say a word to me, Arathell," he told her the moment she sat.

She shook her head and kept her words locked away behind her teeth. She did not even try to touch him.

They stayed like that for some time, neither speaking nor acknowledging the disintegrating hope of the Men around them.

Finally he cast his eyes away from the sky and looked at one of the forges where a boy stood, holding his sword clumsily and looking from side to side, pleading for help with his eyes. "Give me your sword," Aragorn commanded and his sudden speech nearly made her jump in surprise, but the boy looked afraid of him. He walked slowly up to them and Arathell dropped a hand onto Aragorn's leg but he shook his head in dismissal, not looking at her. "What is your name?" he asked, sounding gentler now and taking the weapon.

"Haleth, son of Háma, my lord," he said quietly, his voice not even twenty. Arathell grimaced. She heard this boy's father ripped apart by Wargs not even a day ago. How this boy was even capable of standing on his two feet presently was both inspiring and disheartening all at once. "The Men are saying we will not live out the night. They say that it is hopeless."

"How many years do you have?" Arathell asked kindly.

"Ten and six, my lady," he answered.

Arathell blinked hard at the number. "You are brave for one so young. This should not be forced on you."

Haleth wiped an eye with a gloved hand and she stood to take it. It was cracked and worn from the wind and almost abrasive against her skin. A small thought bloomed in her head, and without another moment, her hand dug into one of her pockets, withdrawing a pair of Gondorian gloves. She had carried this piece of Boromir with her all of this way… how she had hated the softness of his gloves. With a small smirk, she held out Boromir's gloves to Haleth, seeing the boy take them warily and place them on his hands after removing the old. The sight of the gloves being worn once more gave her some courage.

Aragorn was standing, whirling around the boy's sword, testing its agility. "This is a good sword, Haleth, son of Háma." He bent a little to rest his hand on the boy's shoulder, looking him squarely in the eye. "There is always hope."

He nodded only a little and Arathell gave him a soft laugh. "Hope is a powerful thing," Arathell murmured, finger tracing the softness of his unoccupied gloved hand. "It brings peace… peace with _all_ things."

Haleth understood her meaning and gave a light bow before moving away from them both.

"He will not live," she stated with a constricted throat.

"We can give him a chance," Aragorn told her.

She took a deep breath and stared at the Man at her side. "You must get ready now," she ordered. "As must I," she added.

"You look no different than you did this morning before the battle."

"I wear no chain, and I think that a shirt of mail would do me well tonight," she replied.

They walked together to a room close to the armory, where all of their things had already somehow been prepared for them. She disrobed the quickest, uncaring of whether or not he saw her or not. She did not disrobe completely and when she dropped the mail on, she felt her shoulders sink, prepared for death already. She carefully put on her outer garments of armor and turned to see him just now putting on his own mail shirt.

She watched him for a moment and steeled herself, telling herself that now was the time. She had nothing prepared exactly what to say, so she simply opened her mouth and let words tumble free from her lips. "I thought you were dead," she started. He paused and turned, leaning on the table to look at her, waiting for her to continue. "We all did, of course, but… I felt it differently. I… I wish that I could say that I felt with everything in me that you were still alive and I did not give up hope that you were coming back to me, but you know that I have never been able to hope in the way that I was meant to." She paused in her rambling and swallowed. "When we learned you had fallen… I wanted to jump and follow you. Because I promised you that I would follow you. But… they wouldn't let me. A part of me died, Aragorn. I felt my whole world being torn down. I broke. Everything broke. I told myself that you would want me to go on, and go on I would. But I told myself also that the moment Death tried to take me, I would not run from it. I wanted it. I needed it even. Because Death meant that I would have you again."

She chuckled mirthlessly and folded her arms across her chest. "When I told you how much I needed you, I don't think that even I understood the truth of those words. The need I feel for you is so much different than any other need. It is not like the need of happiness or even love. It is so much more than that. I need you like I need air in my lungs. When you fell, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe, Aragorn."

Aragorn came up to her and pulled her hands free from their retreat in her folded arms. A tear fell from her eye but he did not push it away. "You were right," she continued. "You have been right all along. I pushed you away after Boromir died because I was afraid. I didn't want to give you the chance to do to me what Boromir did because I knew that it would only hurt more. And it was more. I found myself caught in such a web and I thought and perhaps still continue to think that you should not love me. I am dark and I am hopeless. And you are everything. You listen to my woes and cure all of my hurts. I did not want you to have to do that for the rest of your life. So I told myself that you did not love me. But then I saw your mind and I saw that you did love me and it only frightened me again. I thought that you could love someone else and that you could be happy. But I see now how wrong I truly was to think that. You've loved me for so long and I was the fool to not see it sooner."

"How did you come to see it?" he whispered, and she could practically feel the breath that he was holding.

"Legolas. Gimli too, but Legolas had… an explanation," she replied. "He told me of how ridiculous I was being and of what I was missing and that what you felt for me was more. He told me essentially that you need me… like you need air in your lungs." She was fighting fierce sobs now. "I realized that I pushed away the very thing that needed me as much as I needed you. I'm so sorry. I made you wait for so long and I gave myself to you too late, only to take myself away again. But I am here now if you still want me. And I want you. And I need you. And I love you. We have the rest of our lives, which may end tonight, but now I have said it at least. I love you. And I swear that I will love you for as long as I am breathing, even if that means only tonight."

His face broke into a grin and his hands dropped onto her face and pulled her in close, pressing his lips firmly on hers. She moaned instantly at the touch and met his kiss and matched his intensity. Her back was pushed into the wall as he begged for more, tasting her as she tasted him. His hands were tangled in her hair, even pulling as he wanted more. Each touch made her shiver with pleasure and she pushed her hands under his mail shirt, raking her nails around his middle and hearing him hiss in appreciation. His lips detached from her lips and dragged their way around her jaw and onto her throat. "Please," she gasped. "Just kiss me, please." His lips landed back on hers and she clawed at anything she could reach, jumping a little to throw her legs around his hips to press her body closer.

His tongue touched everything and she could not stop shivering. "I love you, Arathell," he murmured into her mouth and she kissed him insistently, taking those words and swallowing him down.

"I love you, Aragorn," she said back.

He pulled back a little and pushed his forehead insistently on hers, staring into her brown eyes with intensity that nearly rivaled his kissing. He leaned forward again and kissed her more gently, keeping his eyes open and focused on her. She moaned at the touch and stared at him as he pleasured her mouth with thought and care. She looked at the love he bore for her and felt it settle into her soul, making her whole again in an instant. Her legs dropped back down to the floor, but their kiss continued. He bit her lip teasingly and she grinned and returned the playful nip. "Forever," he promised.

She grinned again and kissed him once more. "Always," she agreed.

His forehead was pressed on hers again and his hands found their way into hers. "I forgive you, Arathell," he murmured. "Legolas told me your reasoning in Edoras. Do not be angry."

"I do not think I could if I tried," she replied.

He grinned. "I waited so long for you. Truthfully, I never thought that I would have you at all. I thought that surely Glorfindel or Boromir would capture your heart before you could even notice the love I bear for you. We may not have enough time to be together in all of the ways I wished we could, but knowing that you love me as I love you is more than even I could have ever hoped for. You have given me a gift that I could never aspire to adequately return. I do not care how much time we do not have. All I know is that if we die tonight, I will have died happier than I have ever been. And that is solely because of you." He kissed her again. "I love you."

She smiled into his lips. "I love you," she answered. She laughed then and engaged him in another kiss, deep and powerful. He sighed into her mouth and pushed her harder again against the wall. He used his slight height advantage to cover her completely and make her crane her neck to meet his lips. His hands traced her curves and even through the mail shirt, she could feel the heat of him. Arathell grabbed hold of the neck of his mail, pulling him closer with one hand and letting the other roam over his back. She felt her hand catch on some snags within the steel, slicing her hand but she did not feel the pain of it.

When his hands grabbed her hips, she threw her head back to breathe, feeling his lips settle once more on her throat. Her eyes settled on his armor behind him and reluctantly pushed him back. He looked confused but understood her mournful face in an instant. He kissed her head tenderly. "We had tonight," he told her.

"That will have to be enough," she agreed.

* * *

 **Oh my gosh, it is HERE! You guys, I have been waiting to share this chapter with you FOR FOREVER! Seriously, this last scene here? THAT is the scene that inspired me to write the story. THIS is the scene where Arathell was well and truly born… goodness, I'm getting all sentimental. Someone pass me a tissue. Haha**

 **So, please leave me a review! Pretty please?**

 **Check out the music too!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	59. Chapter 59

**Hey there, everyone! Thanks for the reviews about the confession! It was so wonderful to hear that you all liked it. Seriously, that was the scene that started it all. Also, thanks to** _Orel Havi and Miriam_ **for your so very kind guest reviews! Welcome and don't be afraid to leave more reviews. ;)**

 **You guys have also been anticipating the battle, and I am more than happy to give it to! In order to keep it from being the same exact scene from the movie… well some things are gonna be a little different. Please let me know what you think!**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that appear in this chapter.**

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Part Four – We Don't Need

One By One - Alter Bridge

"This sacrifice of flesh and blood  
For a promised land that may not be won  
Let us not forget the hero laid to rest"

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He pulled away to finish with his armor and she stared at the finish product, watching as he reached for his sword, which Legolas was suddenly holding. She had not noticed him come in, but her senses clearly had enough reason to be distracted. Aragorn nodded in thanks and it was only then that she remembered that the two of them had faced a quarrel earlier and she hastily stepped away from the wall to stand beside them both. "You have led us this far; you have not led us astray," Legolas said hurriedly. "Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Aragorn clapped his hand onto his shoulder and Legolas returned the gesture wholeheartedly. "There is nothing to forgive, Legolas," he replied in Sindarin and she smiled at them both.

Gimli stalked inside with a mail shirt of his own, struggling with it for a moment. "If we'd have time, I'd get this adjusted." It fell to the ground, half of it making high clinking noises as it met the floor. It was nearly twice his length and practically half of his width which evoked a happy laugh from her. "It's a little tight across the chest." Arathell only laughed harder at his commentary when a sudden horn burst through night air, surprising them all.

"That is no Orc horn," Legolas remarked before they all fled to the outer wall, footsteps anxious and the vision of Gimli's clumsy armor evaporated from her mind.

What she saw made her smile even greater however and she rushed down to the gate with the others.

Haldir stepped forward, his long red cape making him look more regal than she had ever seen him before. "We've come to honor that allegiance," she heard him say when she approached.

Aragorn greeted him in Sindarin before actually embracing him. "You are most welcome," he claimed, turning back to Théoden with pride written all over his features. Truthfully, he looked years younger now that reinforcements had arrived, though there was still a fierce part of her that doubted very much that it would help.

"We've come to fight alongside Men once more," Haldir continued sternly, the brimstone in his eyes ablaze with conviction and a strength that only Elves could successfully convey.

"Yes, yes, of course," Théoden rushed, utterly shocked, but gesturing for the Elves of Lothlórien to be properly ushered into the fortress to take up various places.

"Mellon nin," she chided when he looked at her at last.

Haldir smiled and walked beside her as they led his troops ahead into the fortress, allowing Aragorn to take point on where everyone ought to go. "You see? Our cliff hanger did not last for forever," he remarked and she smiled, stopping him for a moment to embrace him tightly. When they finally parted, he appraised her carefully with a playful gleam in his eyes. "How is it that you can look so drastically different from the short weeks since we have parted?"

"It has almost been a month," she answered.

"It has been but three weeks. We made to leave almost immediately after your company left. You grandmother sends her regards. And she asks if you have yet to learn the mystery of her mirror?"

Arathell blushed when she recalled the image of a young boy with grey eyes and chestnut hair in her arms. "I have," she replied with a look at Aragorn who was still too busy instructing others in Sindarin to pay attention to the conversation. She then recalled the fact that it really had only ben three weeks since they had left Lothlórien. It seemed so quick – her growing affection for Aragorn and Boromir's passing. Elves never did anything quickly, and here she had lost one who she thought she could have loved, moved on, fallen in love with another, broke his heart, and only just started reconciling with him. "It has only been three weeks, hasn't it?" she remarked.

"You are different now," he commented. "You look… wiser. It is as if you aged another thousand years in our separation."

"I think she appears happier," Legolas stated, coming alongside them. "She has waited many long years for it to finally happen."

Haldir appeared confused and looked at Legolas for a better understanding. All at once, his face lit up with recognition and he looked at Arathell with a different light in his eyes. "You have finally understood!" he exclaimed.

"Understood what?" she asked.

"There are few of our race who are gifted with foresight, but that was not needed to understand the situation fully. You have come to your wits at last and understood what was lying before you all along. Lord Aragorn must be very relieved."

Her eyes widened. "How could you know?" she demanded.

"Arathell, it could not have been more obvious. And I am in good standing with the Lady. She revealed to me when Aragorn first came to Lothlórien that he was meant for you and you for him."

"It seems that I was the only one foolish enough to not see it." Her face fell and she looked over at Aragorn. "I fear now though that it may be too late. What love can we share now but the love we have tonight? We appreciate you coming to our aid, Haldir, but I think you understand the hopelessness of what lies before us. There are ten thousand of them, I am told. And even with your reinforcements, we perhaps only extend the battle a few hours longer than it would have been."

Haldir sighed. "He has yet to teach you hope."

"I do not think there is time to learn it now," she retorted.

"But there is always time to try," he said wisely. He looked ahead at Aragorn who was now gesturing for the last battalion to assimilate on the outer wall. "I must go. I hope to discuss this with you further, but should that not be the case… then I suppose another cliff hanger would not be entirely objectionable."

"I wish we would just arrive at the end already so there does not have to be any more," she teased, fighting to keep the inevitable away from her thoughts.

Haldir left them then and Arathell moved with Legolas and Gimli – who seemed to have sorted his armor – to join Aragorn on the rampart. Spaces were becoming few, so Legolas and Gimli separated from her while she found a spot of her own. Her fingers danced through the air at her sides, already anxious for what was about to happen.

Once everyone had settled, she waited. She did not know how long they stayed that way, but it was quiet. Nothing could be seen in the darkness and nothing could be heard either.

Footsteps brought her back into focus and she turned to see Aragorn suddenly at her side. He did not say anything to her, but she felt him play with her fingers while he stood behind her. He began to move away, but she took his hand completely, squeezing it. He stopped and stayed with her for a while longer.

In the distance, an orange, fiery spot entered her vision and she squeezed his hand harder. "They're here," she whispered in Common.

He moved in closer to her and at that point, it must have been obvious to the others around them that they were bonded closer together than just through friendship. "I love you," he murmured into her ear. "Whatever happens now, know that. Whatever happens, we are together."

"Forever," she told him.

"Always," he assured.

He moved from her then and she set her face, making it unreadable. She felt the eyes of soldiers fall on her, but she fought their stares, her hand reaching to clutch Finelleth in her hand as the others held their own bows. After several minutes of their staring, she shuffled on her feet. "Lady Shadow is allowed her secrets. Just because we are on the same side of the wall does not mean that I will not gut you all like the inquisitive crows you are." The eyes looked away from her then and she steadied herself.

The lights in the distance had grown considerably, so much that even the Men could see them. Arathell found herself wanting to run at that moment. She had never felt this way before and she knew that she did not like feeling this way. Perhaps now that there was more to lose, she wanted to run and ensure that those things – rather that person – would not be lost. It wasn't entirely logical; she knew that. Chances were that they were going to die here tonight and remaining with Aragorn now would do nothing. If anything, that only meant that she would be forced to watch him die. But she knew then that she would do it for him, only so that she could die next to him.

Her promise to him was more serious than it had ever been as far as she was concerned. The moment he died, she would follow. She was confident that he would not do the same if she perished, but she did not blame him for that. He was a King, not just some Lady Elf's lover.

Their stomps could be heard now as well as the clapping of thunder and Arathell took another deep breath, trying to calm her frayed nerves. Truthfully, she did not want to die. If he died, she would not hesitate to follow. But she did not want to be forced to take such action. She wanted to live, but what she really wanted was to live a life that was frankly impossible given their predicaments. Supposing that they somehow managed to win this battle, there would only be another, greater battle that would claim them all. And if there was another battle after, there was no chance. The possibility that they could survive everything that was coming for them was not even great enough to be considered a possibility. So she should not be afraid to die. She should accept it now.

The clanging of their metal armor greeted her ears and she grimaced, knowing that it was only a matter of time now. She thought about Kara. Was her little girl even alive still? Were her beautiful grandchildren safe and protected by a still living father and uncle? Balin had been cruelly ripped away. Would the same happen to her daughter? The thought of abandoning Kara to the world made Arathell's stomach clench in the most painful of ways. Could Arathell truly leave the world without doing everything possible to ensure her daughter's safety? She had made a promise to Kara that she would come back.

She could hear the Uruks shouting now and the time grew closer. Yes, Arathell decided. She would follow Aragorn everywhere from henceforth. But if he perished, she would have to wait to follow him until the Valar themselves tore her soul away from the world. She would come back to Aragorn in her own time. The life the Valar would give her on those white, fabled shores would be Aragorn. And they would have eternity to be together. They still had eternity to be together. But her Kara needed her. Glorsha, Thorent, and Arabiff all needed her to be strong and that was what she would be. Aragorn would understand. She had obligations to those she loved and raised and she would not betray her daughter simply because her own heart had found its match.

The thunder had grown and she waited with baited breath for the rain to soon follow. Lightning filled the air and for a brief second, she saw the expanses of the Uruk army. It was endless. Perhaps she would not even have a chance to uphold her promise to her daughter. The rain finally began to hit against the light metal of her armor, making quick clinking noises that quickly escalated into a downpour. Her hair plastered itself to her neck in an instant, which she thought would at least keep the pesky strands out of her face during the battle. An Uruk stood aloft on one of the sharpened rocks, thrusting his sword out. "Be brave," she called to those around her in Sindarin. "Do your land proud!"

Aragorn made his way toward her again, but not for another goodbye, but to bark orders at the Elves. "Show them no mercy!" he shouted in Sindarin. "For you shall be shown none!" The Uruk leader made a raspy yell.

There was a pause and everything around her seemed to freeze. "Elves do not cower! Fight your fear!" she shouted to them, though over the thunder she was unsure of how many actually heard her cry.

The Uruk yelled again, this time inciting its fellow vermin to crash their spears and pikes on the ground in a fearsome rhythm. She stared ahead, looking at all of the targets her Finelleth could reach. Aim almost did not matter now – not with such a condensed area to shoot. But she knew that the others would aim for those in the front as they rightfully should. But she would reach further back for those that would not be likely targets. Each arrow was precious and she already knew that many would aim for the same target, wasting their scarce ammunition. She would have to be clever with her aiming.

An arrow suddenly flew from above the gate, striking down one of the Uruks. "Hold!" she heard Aragorn order, but the dull brown fletching on the arrow told her that this was clearly a Man who had fired. The Uruk fell, earning growls and howls from its still living neighbors. The leader thrust his sword arm out again and the Uruks began swarming. "Prepare to fire!" Aragorn called. She withdrew an arrow and notched it with muscle memory, aiming her arrow to the far reaches that her bow could extend. "Release arrows!" he yelled.

Her arrow flew and she felt the arrow behind her fly as well, reaching further and further before she saw her arrow throw down one of the filth. She reloaded and fired again. Aragorn made another call to fire, sending a volley from behind as well as with the front. Again and again she fired until she noticed that some were armed with crossbows. The Uruks returned the onslaught and it took only a second for one of the men next to her to fall, tumbling over the edge and being impaled on one of their great spears.

Arathell gasped at the sight before another near her took his own mighty plunge. She saw a great mass approaching their area with a long ladder in tow. "The snake," she growled to herself, wondering now if she really should have allowed him to live at all. Only he would be able to tell Saruman what was needed for an invasion such as this. "Shoot those carrying the ladders!" she screamed, firing another arrow.

The others heeded her words and quickly shot downwards toward the mass, but it seemed to be no use. The ladder was slowly raised with a great Uruk perched at the top already, poised for battle. He seemed larger than the others, decorated with different armor and a white helmet with two soulless eyes peering out for prey. "Swords!" she heard Aragorn yell.

Finelleth went back into her quiver and Ristor scraped herself clean from her scabbard and rang when the large Uruk crashed his stiff blade onto hers. The Uruk moved quickly, lunging at her again, but she dodged it, swinging herself low under the blade to come in close. Ristor ripped through the thick skin of its neck until the head leapt from its body. The heady scent of blood was already thick in the air, but Arathell barely noticed it.

Others were climbing the ladder now and it was all that she could do to keep the enemy contained to that one area. The Elves shot their bows still where the ladders had yet to reach. "Shoot them on the upper part of the ladder. I am going to throw the thing down," she ordered to a small group. They obeyed her instantly and when the top of the ladder was partially clear, she leapt forward and gave a great heave against the ladder, having another Elf join her in the effort. There were more that were still climbing and time was of the essence. "Push!" she screamed and finally the ladder broke free from the wall and with another solid push, reeled backwards, landing on even more Uruks down below.

"Release arrows!" she yelled again, and they rallied once more to her orders, firing deep into the crowds. "Another ladder!" she screamed. "Kill the one at the top!" Countless arrows dug into the flesh of the one on top and he fell back into the crowd.

This time, unfortunately, the Uruks seemed to have learned her trick and had weighed it down enough with enough of their own that pushing it back into the mass was not going to be an option. "Swords!" she called, just as they began seeping over the top of the wall.

Ristor scraped against too many blades to count, each time finding her way into the armored Uruk, killing them all. She was beginning to feel as if this were possible. If they could only last the night and fight away those with the ladders, they had a chance.

As if Fate herself had heard Arathell, there was a sudden explosion off to the side of her. Rock shot out of where the wall had once been, careening down into the mass of Uruks below. She saw Men and Elves flying through the air, all to end with a spear gutting them a second later.

Aragorn had been over there.

"With me!" she screamed to half of a dozen others, running down toward the gaping hole. Running, she saw that there were more, already banging away at the gate on the causeway. The Elves were shooting there, but it seemed that there was always another there to take the place of a fallen Uruk.

She glanced back to where she had been standing, seeing that another had already taken up the leadership position and was ordering the others to continue firing at those down below with crossbows.

She reached the hole and looked down, scanning and immediately seeing Aragorn and Gimli battling with the once hidden company of Elves. "We join them," she ordered.

"We are archers," one of them said.

"We join them!" she snapped back. "Draw your swords and do as I say."

Being that there were no stairs, Arathell took a deep breath and leapt to the ground, holding her sword out to stab into one of the unlucky Uruks that cushioned her fall. The other she landed on, she kicked soundly in the face before jumping up and slitting its throat. She didn't bother to check if her men were still standing on the precipice, but she did see several of her men jump down to her out of the corner of her eye.

Arathell's eyes were on a much grander prize. She located Aragorn quickly and moved to stand with him. She gave him a toothy grin when she approached before spiraling out of reach of a searching arm, cutting it off and stabbing at the neck. "You should not be down here," he growled when she fought alongside him.

"Because being up there was so much safer," she rounded, ducking a blade and taking the opportunity to withdraw her dagger, spinning it around at a throat, before launching at the one who swiped for her. She ran at the dead body and plucked her dagger free from its head before looking for another target.

She sidled up to Aragorn again and jabbed through another set of armor. "I had to make sure you were alright," she explained.

He gave her a quick exasperated look before moving on. "Aragorn!" she heard and she glanced up to see Théoden looking down at them. "Fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!" he commanded.

"To the Keep!" Aragorn yelled to those around him. She joined in with her own orders and began retreating back to the stairs, trusting that Aragorn would be just behind her. "Haldir!" she heard him say. "To the Keep!"

Arathell ran up the stairs and quickly became entangled in another mob of Uruks, growling and gnashing their sharpened teeth at her. She wouldn't be able to say just how she was able to blast through them all as quick as she did, but she pushed through, finding her way to the Keep, just in time to watch Théoden's shoulder being speared. Another spear jutted forward into an unsuspecting neck and the King was disentangled from the teeming mass of vengeful Rohirrim. "Attack from above, Arathell," Théoden said when she came to his side.

She glared at him, knowing that he simply did not want to be responsible for a woman being in his charge. But she obeyed him regardless and ran past an approaching Aragorn and Gimli toward the top of the wall once more.

She turned around to better understand her fighting area and noticed that four of the six she had ordered to follow were there, panting and waiting for further orders. Arathell couldn't deny that even in the midst of a battle, she was greatly surprised that they had followed her at all. She was not their captain. "The other two?" she demanded on a heavy exhale.

"Dead," one answered curtly.

She nodded in acceptance and turned to look ahead. More ladders were being sent up, led by large harpoons that would provide just the right amount of leverage to hoist the ladder. These ladders were greater in size and therefore held even more than the ones used at the start of the battle. "We do what we did before. Aim for the rope that holds the ladders. But wait for just the right moment. They need to fall back on them." Ristor was put away and Finelleth came back out, firing a carefully aimed arrow. The ladder fell backward and loud, shrill shrieks erupted into the night, only deadened a moment later when it all came crashing down. Another fell almost at the same time hers did, but further in the distance. She looked for the archer and saw that it was Legolas. Her met her gaze and gave a nod.

"To him!" she barked and began running, cutting down those that were in her way. "You live still," she remarked when she approached Legolas at last. Ristor was ripping again, almost salivating with the blood that was dripping from her steely shine.

"As do you," he retorted, firing another arrow at one of the catapults below. "And the others?" he asked.

"Both alive when last I saw them," she replied, killing one who charged at an aiming Legolas.

"You have followers," he continued.

"Only four."  
"I see many," he answered. "Seven, I think."

She did not have a moment to look to see if he was correct, but he would not joke about something like this now, so she assumed that he was right. There must have been friends of those who were already following her. That was her only explanation.

"There is Aragorn – they are battling on the causeway!" he exclaimed.

This she made time to witness and when she glanced down, she did see them both, spinning and twirling against the onslaught that came for them. The Keep was being supported at the moment, and she knew that they had been sent out there merely to buy time to repair the Keep in any way possible.

"Get me a rope!" she called to one of her men. She saw one gather the remains of the ladder rope that Legolas had shot down and he handed it to her. "Do not fail me," she called to the others. "Make a circle and do not let anyone in!" she ordered and instantly, they formed a ring around her, fighting any who tried to invade.

"Aragorn!" Legolas yelled, throwing the rope down to them.

Aragorn and Gimli were both attacked by one large Uruk, but Aragorn knocked it over somehow and grabbed hold of the rope and of Gimli. Arathell reached for the rope as well, helping Legolas heave the two of them up the wall. She could only pray that there would be none with crossbows and a good aim at that moment.

Both of them managed to pull the other two up the wall and over the ledge. "To the Keep," Aragorn rushed, already going to the stairs.

"With me!" she ordered again, surprised now to see that there were more than seven that followed her but over a dozen.

"Retreat!" she heard the King yell. "The castle is breached! Retreat!"

"Inside, get them inside!" Aragorn yelled.

They ran harder, feeling the Uruks at their heels behind them. They ran harder and harder and she called louder to the others to follow, seeing now dozens of Elves and Men rushing after them.

They continued until they reached the inner ring of the castle. She did not know how much time they to let the others in, but it was not much. "Faster!" she screamed at them. "If you value your life, faster!"

They broke into the smaller Keep where Théoden and some of his guards already were stationed, standing to protect one of the back entrances into the caves where the Women and children were hopefully still alive. There was the other entrance she knew, but she was unsure if it had been ransacked yet or not. She could only assume that it wasn't, as that area was rather hidden within the fortress, despite being outside. And knowing that there was another entrance within the throne room, they had wisely broken the rocks above the main entrance free to disguise and protect the door.

Arathell looked behind and saw now that there were still others trickling in, as well as Aragorn. The doors closed almost instantly after he walked inside with a small group of his own. They hurried toward each other and gave one another one solemn look. "Barricade the door," the King ordered. "Anything you can find – barricade the entrance. These beasts do not care for the sun."

"They came here in the sun," she reminded, but told her followers to help the Men.

"Here we are," Aragorn said, looking at the Men and Elves rushing to push the heaviest of things up to the door. "Here we stay."

"We did not last long out there," she said. "I cannot think we have killed even one thousand. How is it that we will survive this, Aragorn?"

He smiled grimly. "We both know that we will not," he answered.

Arathell gave a slow nod and moved over then, helping the others with moving things to the door. The Uruks had yet to find them which gave them a slight advantage, but she did not know how long that would last. There was no hope for their future and they were going to die here.

She paused and saw just how together these Men and Elves seemed with one another. They might as well have been worlds apart, and here, covered in the blood and gore of battle, it was almost hard to distinguish between the two races. They fought together and now, at the end of Rohan, they were dying together. "Where is Haldir?" she asked suddenly, turning to Aragorn. He stared at her for a moment, not saying a word. "No," she whimpered. "No, he cannot!"

"Arathell, by the time, I arrived, it was already too late. I… I caught him as he fell," Aragorn replied.

Tears welled in her eyes when she thought about the friend this war had claimed. She had known him for thousands of years and he was gone forever. He died, trying to protect people who were not even his to protect. He gave his life to a cause he truly did not need to. He only needed to travel to the Grey Havens and sail away, leaving the pain and anguish behind him and for someone else to remedy. But he sacrificed himself for the bettering of the world and he would not see his sacrifice come to fruition. She had failed him. The world had failed him. Haldir did say he enjoyed a good cliff-hanger, but this was one she never wanted to hear.

"It was quick?" she asked, her voice barely creeping from the depths of her throat.

Aragorn nodded once. She knew instantly that he was lying to her and she stalked away for a moment, breathing harder and trying to hide away her moment of weakness. "All of the others," she continued when she felt him approach from behind. "That boy – Haleth – where is he?" she demanded. "Is he dead too?"

"No, my lady," a voice said softly and she turned to see the young child standing there, looking scared and shaking. Arathell took a gasping breath and found herself rushing to him. She did not know if he wished for it or not, but she took him in her arms without a thought, holding him close. Haleth returned her embrace, his breath as shaky as his body as he squeezed her. "We are going to die, aren't we?" he asked her.

Arathell couldn't answer him. She only held him tighter.

* * *

 **Well… there it is. I don't really have a whole bunch to say about this one, except I would love to hear from you! Of course though, I say that every chapter, so that really isn't anything new, is it?**

 **Let me know how you like it! And thoughts about Haleth? Or maybe a mysterious four?**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	60. Chapter 60

**Hello, my lovelies! Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites! All of your input is seriously appreciated! Didn't get to hear from a bunch of ya again, but that's alright. I think it must just be busy season. No worries! Then again, I did get to see some familiar faces, which was wonderful! Thanks for coming back!**

 **Other than that, I don't have anything to say.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Four – We Don't Need

Brand New Start - Alter Bridge

"We will make a brand new start  
From the pieces torn apart  
The break of day is before us  
Cast your sorrows to the wind  
Let the highway take us in  
As we escape the disorder"

* * *

 **March 6, 3019 – Helm's Deep**

The mood around them all had now changed and all were now moving further and further into the fortress, barricading each door with anything at all they could find. At each barricade, they had left volunteers to stay behind and defend each makeshift keep, giving time for the next group to make a sturdy establishment behind them. They had started with about one hundred Men and Elves, and by the time they reached the throne room, they only had perhaps twenty. Haleth was volunteered by one of the higher ranking soldiers but she snapped at the Man and ordered that Haleth stay with her.

The final door was where the door to the caves was, and they hurried to hide that as best as they could while also preparing the door to the throne room. By now, there were few things left that could be of use, save some of the furniture in the room itself that was being pushed and shoved against the door. Other things were being brought in from neighboring bedchambers and the like.

Out of the perhaps three dozen Elves that had taken to following her, it was the original four that still remained – the others having stayed behind at various barricades.

She approached the four solemnly while they waited. The Uruks had apparently not broken through some of the other barricades, as it was silent outside of their door. "Thank you," she said. "I am not technically your captain, but you stayed at my side regardless and for that I am thankful. I cannot say if we saved any lives, but I am sure that you saved mine if that means anything."

"You saved ours," one of them said with a smile. "If we had not followed, we would surely be dead by now." The others nodded.

"We will follow you," another added.

Arathell smiled thoughtfully. "You may not have much time left to follow." The words were a murmur, broken and tired, but she was somehow happy.

They continued to stare at her. "We will follow you," the same one repeated.

Arathell nodded in thanks and moved away from them. She sidled up to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Her hand fell into Aragorn's instantly and she pulled him to the side, away from the others. "I suppose that it is only a matter of time," she regarded with a false smile, tears brimming. "I wanted this more than I ever thought I did. I wanted to be with you and have that time to be with you. Now… we will never get that chance."

He embraced her then, fingers falling into her now dry and crusty hair. "This is enough. I promise you, this is enough," he whispered into her ear. "This is not how it ends for us, Arathell. I do not know how I know it, but even though this is enough now… I feel that there is more."

She scoffed and hugged him so tight, she felt his heart beating against her chest. "You would be the one to hope for such a thing now. Only you forget that I cannot feel hope in the way that you can. You should tell Haleth of your supposed hope."

"Arathell, I do not try to dissuade," he said, pulling back to trace her cheek with a calloused finger. "I feel it in my heart that we will not perish today. This is not the end of Arathell, daughter of Elrond, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn. There is much that we must do before we sleep."

She barked a laugh and pulled him to her again. "Hold me like you did in the beginning," she asked into his shoulder. His hands traveled around her waist to twirl themselves in her hair. Arathell closed her eyes, reminiscing that moment in the House of Elrond where a stranger had taken her terrified, small form and held it to his chest. Their heartbeats synchronized almost upon impact, recognizing the other as if it was only an extension of its own rhythm. They took deep, slightly shaking breaths together, Arathell feeling a sense of calm wash over her just as it did once before.

When they pulled back, she kept her eyes closed and felt his hand cover her eyes, thumb swiping at the tears that had sneakily crept from her eyelids. And just as before, she felt everything he attempted to convey. She could even feel the hope he spoke of drip into her mind, dancing in colorful ribbons of light behind her lids. And just as before, that hope resonated within her and with another deep breath, she felt it fill her soul, like an old string that had just twanged to life, dust puffing out and away from the lonesome sound.

Her eyes opened against his calloused hand and she pushed it away, meeting his gaze. "My One," she greeted with a soft smile. "I wish I saw your face then."

His forehead clunked onto hers. "You see it now." She grinned fuller. "I love you, Arathell. And even when you do not believe me when I say that I feel hope –"

"I believe you feel it," she interrupted. "I felt it with your hand over my eyes."

"But you cannot sustain it for yourself," he surmised.

"I feel the remnants of it now to know that it is a wondrous feeling," she agreed. "But even hope cannot begin to combat the current feeling I feel."

He grinned back at her and his lips reached out to her, pecking her lips.

"Now, none of that." Arathell jumped back to look at Legolas and Gimli who were both smirking at her. "You will sicken the others," Legolas continued.

Arathell smiled and reached for Legolas' hand. "Arwen –" she began.

Legolas held a hand up and looked away for a moment. She saw tears swim in his eyes. "She will know that I go with her in my thoughts. My heart will linger on I'm sure with her until she joins me."

"You believe she will die from grief?" Arathell asked.

He smiled sourly. "I would. We have had over one thousand years being pledged to one another. Imagine what the two of you would do with such time and how grievous your parting would be."

She returned the small smile. "We go together," she soothed.

"Not necessarily," Aragorn reminded. "We are still alive. Now is not the time to despair. There are Women and children in the caves and I will not sit and wait for my death without protecting them all with my last breath." He stood with the might of Kings glowing around him and a fire burned in his eyes as she had never seen before. Determination flooded from him and everyone in the chamber paused to look upon him.

Dare she even think it, she felt hope. Pride swelled from her as she looked upon the Man she loved, thinking then that there was no one who could equally display such majesty as him. "Can anything more be added to the doors?" he asked loudly. Everyone seemed paralyzed for a second longer before all were standing and moving about the chamber, looking even for a crumb to place at their defense.

Arathell grinned when he looked back at her. Somehow, amidst the great power he commanded about himself, he looked to her for reassurance and support. She reached for his hand to give it a tight squeeze before letting go and joining the others in their search.

They dug deep into the refuges they had, withdrawing anything of weight. She herself had gathered the four remaining Elves and forced them to assist her in uplifting Théoden's throne to place before the great doors. They grunted and heaved, but eventually even Théoden himself came to join them. His warmth was like the sun, but she could see the light fading from his eyes. She did not know how much longer he could go on, waiting for a death he thought was sure. Arathell could not blame him for his thinking, and she reserved such feelings herself, but she would fight until her dying breath, and of that she was sure.

Perhaps an hour before dawn, the sky had already begun to lighten. "The dawn gives me courage," she said. "Even if it is time away yet, I can feel it surging through my bones."

At that moment, a great slam was heard and they all froze. They stared at the door, partially with disbelief and with the intense desire that their ears betrayed them all. A thump fell again on the door and she saw the hinges shutter at the impact, fighting to keep the doors closed.

All at once, everyone charged at the door, using their own, dreary and exhausted bodies to hold the door firm. When the next slam came, she felt their battering ram from the other side, the wood of the door bouncing into her side with a force that made her grimace. The Elves were on either side of her, now at last looking fearful. To stand above an enemy and fire from a position of strength, or even to charge into the unknown was very different from the terror they were facing now. They were trapped and cornered, waiting for the swarm to overtake them as a colony of ants overtakes its prey. "Courage, men," she murmured in Sindarin. "We die with honor and pride – never forget that, understood?"

"The fortress is taken!" Théoden's booming voice cried from the head of the hall. "It is over," he groaned.

"You said this fortress will never fall while your men defend it," Aragorn yelled back to him, still retrieving things from a table to take to brace the door. "They still defend it! They have died defending it!" he shouted.

"Stay," she murmured to the Elves before coming up to Aragorn. The fire in his eyes was dwindling and she suddenly feared for everyone. How could they die with pride if their leader could not do such a thing? Aragorn was losing hope and she wished more than anything that she could stop such a process from happening. They needed the hope he was giving them. She took his hand again and forced him to look at her. "This is not how it ends," she told him solemnly. "Be the King they need." He looked suddenly unsure. "I am here."

He steadied himself with a nod and looking to Gamling. "Is there no other way for the Women and children to get out of the caves?" he asked the old soldier. Another slam against the door. "Is there no other way?" he demanded, looking again, frustrated.

"There is one passage," Gamling finally answered. "It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far; the Uruk-hai are too many."

Another slam and she heard the wood creaking under the pressure. They did not have long.

"Send word for the Women and children to make for the mountain pass, and barricade the entrance," he ordered, shoving Gamling off in that direction.

"So much death," Théoden muttered to himself but looked at Aragorn. Gamling did not move. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?" he asked. The light was gone from his eyes. He had already been beaten and looked again like the old, crouched Man in halls of Meduseld.

Another slam and she flinched.

"Ride out with me," Aragorn murmured at last and she looked at him with wide eyes. "Ride out and meet them," he said again, firmly and with a renewed strength that seemed to make the chamber itself quiver.

"For death and glory?" Théoden guessed.

"For Rohan," Aragorn denied. "For your people."

"The sun is rising," Gimli said, suddenly beside her. She looked to the window and at last, the sun's honeyed rays dripped into the chamber, engulfing it with a pale light.

Arathell took a shuttering breath, only now realizing that she had tears in her eyes. She blinked them away harshly, refusing to show any weakness now. This journey had taken much from her, but her pride, she would keep until her death.

"Yes," Théoden growled and when she looked back to him, she did not see a Man cowering in the shadows anymore, but a Man filled with desire. "Yes," he said again. "The Horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep one last time," he commanded in a loud booming voice.

"Yes!" Gimli growled and left the room instantly.

Another slam. There was not much time.

Théoden approached Aragorn and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together," he said and Aragorn raised his head in acceptance. "Bring the horses!" he commanded once more. Gamling hurried away, only to come back a moment later with other Men, each bearing many horses.

"Take Hasufel," Aragorn told her, coming up to another, taller, rich brown horse. "Brego will bear me and only me," he explained.

Not even bothering to ask how Brego and Aragorn had become acquainted, she took Hasufel by the reins and leapt on, drawing Ristor. The Elves flocked to horses of their own, and somehow almost all managed to have a mount, even young Haleth. There were several that stayed to the doors, pushing until everyone was prepared enough to move aside.

The doors would break and it was then that their fate would be laid before them. She looked at Aragorn, not finding any words to say. His eyes shone with love and she did her best to reflect such feelings back to him. His smile seemed to say that he understood her. "Forever," she finally managed.

"Always," he answered.

"Fell deeds awake," Théoden began. Another slam. "Now for wrath, now for ruin, and a red dawn!" he shouted. The Horn bellowed loud, making dust jump from the rafters. The doors shattered and a host was upon them. "Forth Eorlingas!" he cried.

The others around her yelled with battle cries of their own. Their horses charged ahead and Ristor danced, taking heart in this final surge of strength.

They ran through the Uruks, striking and swinging in any way they could manage. She could not look to the others now. She focused only on the task ahead of her.

The causeway was nothing but a blur in her vision, so much blood and screams filling the air, but if she guessed correctly, they were not the screams of those of Rohan.

There was a sudden pause in the warfare and when she glanced around, she noticed that they all gazed up to the rim of the valley where a tall, proud Meara stood. Gandalf the White had come and he looked upon the swarm before them with distaste but with a familiar twinkle in his eye that clearly said that magic was about to happen.

Beside him, another rider appeared, and she instantly recognized the long, white horsetail hair that gleamed from the peak of him helm. Éomer had been found and with him a host of armed warriors, all with horses stood. The horses tramped their feet in anticipation. She watched them cascade down the mountainside, weapons glimmering like a fire and armor rattling in harmony.

The Uruks lowered their pikes, ready to skewer those that would come first, but it seemed that Gandalf had long guessed their trick. Just as they reached the bottom, the sun blazed over the rim and straight into eyes of the enemy. She heard shouts of pain fill the air and then saw the Rohirrim leap and dance their way through the onslaught, slaying many.

Arathell didn't know how it happened, but it seemed her sword guided her through the final moments and before even an hour, she could hear the King shouting the victory.

They had won.

She could not discern how, but she knew that she was given yet another day.

The Uruks fled from them, running the way they came. To all of their surprise, a great forest loomed, waiting for them. The Uruks, dumb in their fear, continued on regardless into the mystical trees. She gasped when the trees began moving and loud, wooden creaks could be heard, followed by shrieks of the Uruks. Within moments, there was nothing to be heard at all.

They had won.

They made their way back to the fortress, and Arathell ignored the devastated look of it, jumping off of her stallion and moving through the herds of people, all of them smiling and embracing one another. "Aragorn!" she shouted over the commotion. She carried on in that way for a countless time, and with each passing second, she felt her heart race faster, afraid of the outcome of her search. How could he survive the night and leave her in the morning? He was stronger than that!

At last, a black haired figure appeared in her vision and she stopped, staring at the twisting and turning of his torso as he searched the crowds for a loved one. "Arathell!" he yelled. He turned back around and then he finally saw her. She knew that there could not have been a proper measurement of how grand her smile was when they locked gazes. He reflected that smile and she ran to him faster than she had ever run in her life. He caught her, as he always had, and hoisted her up high, spinning her around in circles while she laughed jovially. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips on their own accord, and she bent herself over to kiss him. His beard was matted with gnarls and even faint traces of blood and sweat, but he had never tasted so wonderful to her. Her hands locked in his hair, clutching her to him with every power she had. Aragorn showered his kisses on her lips and on any piece of skin that exposed and within his reach. She laughed harder and held him tight, kissing him again firmly on the lips.

"I told you that it would not end like that," he hummed onto her lips.

"You can tell me more in a minute," she bantered, kissing him again.

He finally set her back to the ground, his hand traveling to the nape of her neck. He kissed her again and pulled her close for a proper embrace, kissing her temple and squeezing her.

The cheers were beginning to settle and there were Men that were making their way to free the Women and children and tell them of the joyous news of their victory. But Arathell stayed within Aragorn's embrace, staring hard into his eyes with a smile that could have rivaled any other's. He did not seem to mind her insistence to stay this way and smiled back at her with as much happiness as her. Their foreheads were pressed together and they laughed at each other when they could not think of words.

"My lord, Aragorn and Lady Arathell," a voice interrupted them and they turned away from each other at last to see Théoden, Éomer, Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli all crowded around them. She had not even noticed them appear at all. She identified the voice to be Gandalf's and he looked at her with a fatherly expression and the familiar twinkle. "I daresay I would have thought to die of old age before you came to your senses," he teased, gesturing to Aragorn at her side.

Arathell blushed while the others laughed. She noted a faint look of disappointment in both the eyes of Théoden and Éomer, but it did not matter to her. Aragorn must have also noticed it, as his arm tightened around her midsection enough to cause her to meet his gaze which showed a glittering satisfaction and a cool smile that easily dictated who it was her heart belonged to.

Another figure came charging at their small gathering, and she soon saw that it was Éowyn. At her arrival, it was now Arathell's turn to push herself into Aragorn's embrace, staking a claim of her own. She knew that the girl meant well, and she knew that Éowyn understood that Aragorn belonged to her, but she saw the way the White Lady looked at Aragorn. Feelings could never be so easily erased, and Arathell had learned that lesson quite pointedly.

"Let us tend to the wounded," Théoden finally declared and then turned his gaze to her and Aragorn. "I have come to understand that both of you are skilled in such ways."

Arathell's eyes widened and she looked at Gandalf, knowing that it must have been him to spill her secret. "My skills are very unreliable. Aragorn is much better suited to assist."

"And he will," Aragorn said. "You shall accompany me and help in whatever way your skills allow."

"If the lady wishes to assist my endeavors –" Éomer began.

"No, thank you, my lord," she interrupted. "If it is what my lord commands, then it shall be so."

"No, please, do as you will," Théoden remarked, and she knew instantly that he would have preferred her to go along with his nephew. "I merely was making a suggestion."

Arathell smiled thoughtfully. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, it was not your lordship I was referring to," she answered, now casting a glance at Aragorn. "My place is with Aragorn and if he claims to need my skill, then I will help in whatever way I can."

Aragorn beamed once more and they each made their goodbyes and were off to the healing ward. "Look for a Lord Erkenbrand whilst you are there!" Gandalf yelled after them.

"You did not need to follow me if you did not want to," he told her as they walked.

Arathell grinned cheekily at him. "So sure that I follow just to be with you," she teased before her face became sterner. "No, there are plenty who are in need of healing and even without the power of my gift I would still try to help them in some way, Aragorn. Let me help as I can."

He nodded and they moved quietly through the hordes of families crying and some laughing, though that number was becoming far less as time dragged on. The novelty of actually winning the battle was wearing away and all that was remaining were wives and children that were learning that they were widows or orphans. Though her loved ones had survived, she needed to be sure that she did not unintentionally boast such a fact.

A thought sprung into her mind and she grabbed Aragorn's arm, stopping him. "Where is Haleth?" she asked in a whisper. The boy had been so terrified, but she saw enough of his mind to know that he took comfort with Aragorn and herself. That alone indicated to Arathell that he had hoped that she and Aragorn would protect him and keep him safe from harm.

Aragorn sighed, looking briefly around. "We cannot save everyone," he murmured. "Perhaps he is in the healing wards, or better yet, perhaps he is with his mother. Either way, we need to hurry as there are people that we are capable of healing and they need us."

She was loath to leave so quickly without a proper search. She spun around rapidly, tugging herself free of Aragorn's hand. "He trusted us," she told him.

He stared at her more a moment, clearly debating what they needed to do. Suddenly, his gaze drifted somewhere behind her, and she turned, thinking that perhaps he had seen the boy. Instead, the four Elves came up to them silently. One stood out, a leader in their small company – the one who had pledged his group to her. Arathell smiled gently. "What do you need?" he asked.

"I do not even know your names," she said softly. "You have followed me all throughout the night and have helped, and I still have yet to know what you are called."

"Arathell –" Aragorn began, reaching for her once more, but she pulled her hand away and looked at Aragorn for a moment.

"I will follow," she snapped. He sighed in reservation, nodded, and walked back into the fortress. "Your names," she demanded from the four.

"I am Lagordir," the leader answered. His eyes were the customary grey of Elves, and his hair was about the length of Legolas', just reaching beyond the shoulders. His legs were long, perhaps giving him his name. He held his chin high, but she saw the reverence in his mind, hands folded in front of him, waiting for a verdict. He was one with every intention to follow. He may be the leader when he needed to be, but she could see the growing doubt in his mind that he hid. He craved for another to give him a command so as to lessen the burden.

But his heart was pure, and that was all that mattered to her. So, Arathell nodded in greeting with a smile. "I am –" she began.

"We know who you are. A daughter of Elrond does not go unnoticed by the Elves of Galadriel," another one said. His voice rumbled deep in his chest. He was taller still than Lagordir with broad and thick shoulders. With a square jaw and cold eyes, Arathell stared hard at him. At first glance, she knew that he was used to not being trusted by those around him initially. He was not the kind of character that looked for companionship, rather waited for someone of worth to be brave enough to approach him for friendship. In that instant, she knew she respected him and smiled kindly at him. His heart was guarded, but it rang true. She looked imploringly at him, waiting for a name she could put to his face. "My name is Brastor," he finally submitted.

She nodded in thanks and looked to the next. His face was small and the shine in his eyes showed his youth within their race. She predicted that he had yet to see fifteen hundred winters – less than half her age. He had a wiry build and stayed close to Brastor and it was then she realized that he must have been a younger brother to him. His face was fairer and his hair fell low, reminding her of the great Thranduil's hair. He was too beautiful for war, she deemed, but he had survived the night, which said enough, not to mention the thick gash on his thin face that illuminated his bravery. "Amdir, my lady," he said quietly. Her eyebrows rose at the name, thinking instantly of Aragorn and his precious hope.

"I have no doubt then that your friendship to Gondor will be instant, Amdir," she replied. "Your parents named you rightly."

Arathell turned to the final Elf and felt herself stiffen just looking at him. His eyes were old and his face was stern with disapproval and swallowed rage. She had no doubt that he craved the leadership role that Lagordir had taken. With great hands that still clung to his bow and his neck craned to illustrate his dominance over her, she did feel slightly belittled. Arathell looked deep into his mind, seeing that his intentions were alike to all others present, but there was anger in his heart. He was older than she was, and he seemed to know that. His lip quirked when her lips pursed. "Gorthion," he claimed, and her uneasiness was validated.

She inclined her head ever-so-slightly. He may have been older than herself, but she would not let him take control from her. "Thank you," she said. "Your help and steadfastness last night gave many courage where there was little. We are in your debt."

"As stated last night, my lady, it was following you that secured our lives," Lagordir relayed. "In all actuality, we owe you our lives. We will stay with you to repay this debt."

She smiled and saw his fingers twitch anxiously at his side. He was in need of doing something. "Well then let this be my first plea to you," she started. "There is a boy – his name is Haleth, son of Háma. He was with us in the chamber before the final charge." All but Gorthion nodded in recognition. He did not seem to care. She carried on nonetheless, "His father is dead and I know not of his mother. He is ten and six and may perhaps be all alone. He knows me and Lord Aragorn. I wish to know if he lives still. I would ask if two of you could search for him."

"And the other two?" Brastor asked.

"Which two are greatest at healing?" she questioned.

"That would be myself and Amdir," Brastor admitted.

Arathell nodded. "Then you two shall come with me to the healing wards and we will do what can be done."

"You do not look for the boy?" Gorthion asked curtly.

"I have skill with healing and it is Aragorn's wish that I be present with him," she explained. "I have tarried too long here already, and I am sure that he is not pleased with my tardiness."

"We will find him and bring him to you," Lagordir assured.

She bowed her head again and walked away, knowing that Brastor and Amdir were close behind. "Tell me of Gorthion," she ordered as they walked.

She could feel the hesitation dripping off of Amdir behind her. Eventually it was Brastor who answered her. "He has seen much darkness in his lifetime. I do not believe that he was named with the intention to be as… mangled… as he is. He has no family and has committed himself to this task. He has darkness within him, Shadow." She pursed her lips at the title. Was he comparing Gorthion to her?

"He makes his allegiance with us, my lady," Amdir continued. "But all he has is hatred for more than just Orcs, we fear. It is our belief that his hatred runs deep in all things and he only hates Orcs more. This is not the way of Elves."

"Can he be trusted?" she demanded.

Neither of them answered.

They finally entered the healing ward and she dismissed Brastor and Amdir to their duties, telling them to do what they could for whoever was in need. She hurried to a lonely bedside. The smell of pus and putridity of death hung like a dark hand over the ward, ready and looking for its next victim to pick up and carry away behind the veil. Coughs and cries were heard everywhere and red filled her vision wherever she looked with either specks or great stains of blood on dirty white sheets.

The current bedside held a Man perhaps in his thirties. She looked quickly over his injuries and understood quickly why there was no one present to aid him. There was a tear in his belly – his armor clearly having not been strong enough. His intestines were peeking through the gouge and the blood had covered the pathetic excuse of a wash rag. The Man was feverish, soaked with sweat that was slowly running into his gashed stomach. His eyes were running circles under his eye lids and his lips moved in silent cries of pain.

"How are you still alive?" she asked in Sindarin, knowing that he could neither hear her nor even understand her. It was said though that the language spoken in whatever time of need could soothe a mind faster than any medicinal herb.

He would die. She had no idea why he was brought at all to the ward. There were others who could actually use the few beds here.

Rhetar, dangled out from her necklace of her mail shirt, as if leaning on its own to inspect the wound. So rarely had Rhetar truly been of any assistance and had even resided in the back of her mind since Boromir… But now, Arathell was all too aware of Rhetar's presence astride her breast, and that presence gave her pause. She couldn't save Boromir. How could she save this Man – a Man she had no relation to whatsoever? Feelings and emotion were needed in almost overdosing amounts for her power to seep through. And while she felt awful for this Man's suffering, there was nothing that she could do to bring up such a comparable pain to save him.

"My lady there is nothing that can be done for him," a healer walked to her. "Leave him to his peace. He will go soon enough," she said.

Arathell understood the Woman's words and knew that in her mind, they were true. But she was sure that if this Man was still alive, he was a fighter. He wanted to live. Her mind raced through all of the possibilities – anything she could do for him that would not require her stunted gift.

She sighed and prepared herself. "I will need two bowls of hot water and many more rags. I will also need thick thread and a needle and flame," she demanded.

"My lady, there are others," she began again.

"And they will be tended to; I have no doubt. You approached me, so you will do as I say," she barked back. "Now go. If he dies because of your lack of speed, then I will hold you personally responsible." The Woman hurried away and brought the things back.

She stared at the Man. His face was twitching now from pain. She did not have much time.

Arathell hastily burned the tip of the needle, sterilizing it and threw the long thread in the hot water, hopefully cleaning it well enough. Infection would be almost worse than the wound.

She steadied herself and pushed his skin further apart, looking harder at the wound. "I need light," she ordered. A torch was brought to her instantly. There was blood everywhere she looked, and it pooled everywhere as well. She pushed through more, looking for the leak and behind unable to find it. "More light," she yelled.

Finally, she found a great vein that had been severed, hidden behind the intestines. Arathell forced herself not to breathe as she threaded her needle, never taking her eyes from the leak. Once prepared, she went back in and took another deep breath to steady her shaking. "Do not die now," she murmured. Carefully, but quickly, she stitched the vein as closely back together as she could. She waited with baited breath to see if the stitch would hold and if more blood would leak. When it seemed that it held, she breathed a sigh of relief and even laughed with surprise. "Thank you," she whispered. "A rag," she demanded. When it was handed to her, she tried her best to mop up the blood that remained in his cavity without damaging any other organs. She constantly was looking back to her stitch, praying that it would still hold.

"My lady," the Woman said timidly.

"Not now," she snapped, focused. When she was satisfied with her cleaning job, she washed her hands and took the needle again, prepared to make the final, great stitch.

"My lady," she said again.

"What? What do you want?" she demanded.

"He is gone," she replied quietly, looking at his face.

Arathell looked up to his chest in fear, praying for it to rise with a breath. After more than a minute, she resigned herself with a choking sob. She steeled her features and blinked away the tears before standing and looking down at him. "Posto ve," she murmured. "And westu hal," she added. She looked back at the Woman. "Show me the next in the most need," she ordered.

* * *

 **So, we have a few new characters here in this chapter! How very exciting. Here are the translations for their names:**

 **Lagordir – Swift/Rapid Man  
** **Brastor – White Heat Brother  
** **Amdir – Hope  
** **Gorthion – Son of Horror**

 **As always, my names are taken from realelvish . net.**

 **Also, "Posto ve" and "Westu hal" are farewells in Sindarin and Rohirric respectively.**

 **So we cooled down on the romance just a tad. I mean, this can't be just a straight up romance story, after all. Let me know what you're thinking? About the four new Elves on the scene? How is Arathell's second gift going to go in the healing wards? And what about our boy Haleth? Please let me know what you are thinking or any predictions you have! I have missed predictions. Any idea for which Elf is your favorite or how they are going to act in the story? They DO have a part, so let me hear some predictions!**

 **Check out the music! Sorry/not sorry that it is another Alter Bridge song... just like last chapter. A cookie for anyone who could guess what my favorite band is. Seriously, it's not hard. Haha**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	61. Chapter 61

**Hey there, everyone! I almost forgot that it was Sunday and was so very close to not updating! Oops… I guess we can blame the Olympics for that… I can't do any sort of sport competitively, but my goodness, put me in front of a TV with people competing and suddenly I become very aggressive, especially when it comes to swimming. You learn something new about yourself every day, I suppose…**

 **Anyway, it was great hearing from you all! And I LOVED hearing all of your predictions about Haldir and of course these four new faces… please keep the predictions coming! These four do have a place… anyone want to guess what their purposes are?**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER! (and oh my goodness, we are almost to Part FIVE)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Four – We Don't Need

Defying Gravity - Wicked

"Something has changed within me  
Something is not the same  
I'm through with playing by the rules  
Of someone else's game  
Too late for second-guessing  
Too late to go back to sleep  
It's time to trust my instincts  
Close my eyes and leap!"

* * *

" _Posto ve," she murmured. "And westu hal," she added. She looked back at the Woman. "Show me the next in the most need," she ordered._

Another seven times she was forced to give the final farewell to those she tried to save. Aragorn had seemed confident in her abilities, but now, all she could feel was defeat. All of these Men and Boromir had died when she touched them and despite her prayers and sweet murmurings in Sindarin, there seemed to be nothing she could do to save any of these Men.

They approached yet another on the verge of dying, and Arathell was tempted to let Ristor take away his pain. But she knelt down and looked at him carefully. His leg was hanging onto to his body, but only barely. If she looked down into the wound, the bloody white of his bone was striking. There was already a large slice in the bone beside, and Arathell knew instantly of what her course needed to be. Infection could be just as dire as the original wound itself and to save his life… the only option was to kill his leg.

She ordered the Woman to get more supplies and Arathell took a brief moment to wash her hands clean of the blood from the last wounded. When she returned, Arathell set herself to work, trying to be gentle with the various arteries still pulsing in his leg. It would be the larger ones that she would need to be the most careful about. If she made one mistake, he would die then and there. "He is going to need his leg removed. There is no possible way to salvage it," she said grimly once the task was done. "Get me an ax," she ordered.

The Woman looked grim and even sick, but she came back after a moment with an ax. Arathell glanced up at the face of the Man, thankful that he was unconscious so that he would not feel what was about to be done to him. Nevertheless, she knew that he would wake as soon as she made the chop. And then it would prove dangerous for all of them. "Brastor!" She shouted and the Elf came up to her warily. He was covered in blood, as to be expected and she knew from the look in his eyes that he had seen great death in this ward as well. "I need you to hold him down. I need to amputate the leg and he will wake and struggle." Brastor seemed terrified by the idea, but he braced the Man anyway, calling the Woman to hold down an arm while Brastor took both the other arm and the Man's whole upper body.

With a grim nod, Arathell took her thousandth deep breath of the morning and placed the ax at the bloodied bone. "Do not die," she begged. She fought closing her eyes and pushed the ax down into the bone, afraid that if she took a swing, she would only make things worse. As she predicted, as soon as the chop was made, the Man jolted to life, screaming louder than any of the other patients. Brastor and the Woman struggled to keep him still, but the pain overtook him and he fell back to the bed unconscious, or at least that was what she hoped.

She swallowed and looked at Brastor. "Is he alive?" she croaked, waiting as Brastor searched for a heartbeat. He gave her a sad look after a moment. "No!" she screamed, throwing down the ax and standing in anger. "No!" she yelled again and felt herself be gathered into an embrace. She knew instantly that it was Aragorn and she could see clearly in her mind Boromir leaning against that tree, pierced and battered.

Arathell growled and shoved Aragorn away and turned back to her patient. Her bare hand fell on the limbless stump, fingers digging into flesh and uncaring of how the blood dwindled between her fingers. "You will not die!" she yelled at the corpse. "Not now! Fight you bastard!" Her swearing descended into Sindarin and her anger grew.

In an instant, she fell to the ground, feeling as though she had been struck. She was shaking and she felt blood fall from her nose. She didn't bother to wash it away but looked back at the dead Man.

Everyone was silent, even those dying and in pain. What they all saw, only Rhetar around her neck could explain. The skin was closed, as if it was an old wound. Blood still marred the tan skin, but he was no longer bleeding. She looked back up to his face and his chest, stunned to see it rising and falling with each breath. He was alive. He was alive and he was actually going to live.

Because she saved him. She used her gift and she saved him – a Man who was sure to die.

"Arathell…" Aragorn murmured at last.

She laughed then and stood, still weary from the power that it used, but she trekked up to his still sleeping face with a smile. She washed her hands quickly and took a clean rag, dipping it into a fresh bowl of water and applied it to his forehead, washing away the sweat and grime of war. "You are going to live," she whispered.

"Arathell," Aragorn said again. She turned her head to look at him, seeing his eyes lit with pride and astonishment. She washed the blood from her nose and turned toward him with a proud smile of her own.

"Take me to the next," she said calmly.

Aragorn seemed hesitant but led her to patient after patient he had deemed hopeless. Arathell could not understand how she did it, but her hand would dig into each of their pain and after some practice and after the overwhelming ability she had conquered, she noticed that she could actually feel their pain. Her fingers would grope into their wounds until the pain traveled into her fingers and into her. Her eyes would fall closed and she would focus everything onto the wound itself. Images of Boromir, Haldir, and all of her deceased patients would wisp through her mind. That sadness and hatred for the things that had done the deeds would flow through her fingers until she would shake.

Wounds would close and people would heal. The Men were saying that she was a Queen of miracles.

Arathell had never before received such recognition before and she was even unsure as to how she should be reacting to it. After saving yet another poor soul, she was able to walk away feeling a satisfaction that she had not felt in many, many years.

However, it seemed that her gift had been taxed to the point of exhaustion and before she could stop herself, she felt the ground moving from underneath her and the walls were spinning in her vision. Arms caught her when she fell and a voice was calling her name but her tongue was too heavy to move. There was a moment where she felt afraid, but the darkness embraced her before she could respond.

* * *

 **March 7, 3019 – Helm's Deep**

When her eyes opened again, she gasped and sat up in her bed, panting as if she had just been shocked back into waking from a nightmare. The sudden movement must have torn at her lungs as she broke into a series of coughs and gags as she tried to regain her breath. Her eyes swiveled around the room and saw a glass of water pop into her vision, slowly pouring its contents down her throat to ease her coughing. She fell backwards back onto the bed and saw the ceiling shiver before her eyes closed once more.

* * *

The second time she woke, she felt much more in control. The walls and ceiling did not move when she looked at them and her breathing was calm, always expecting that next, steadying breath. Her eyes roamed around the stony room until they locked onto Aragorn.

His face was full of concern as he stared, but he gave her a tender smile when she met his gaze. "What has happened?" she asked.

He procured a glass of water for her to drink, which she took with slightly shaky hands. She frowned. "Your gift was overused," he told her bluntly. "Even Gandalf agrees with me." She looked at him confused. He sighed and took one of her hands and the glass back, setting it aside. "Arathell, your gift took what little energy you had left after the battle and nearly drained you completely."

"That can happen?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"Apparently it can," he answered. "I know how important it is to you to save the lives you can. But you cannot do this to yourself if this is going to be the result. You created miracles and saved over a dozen people that were destined to die. But then you fell, and…" He leaned forward and put his forehead against hers. "You have limits, Arathell. You went beyond your limits and nearly killed yourself in the process."

"I nearly killed myself?" she muttered.

"Yes, and it was Gandalf that thankfully brought you back to me," he replied, now sounding quite harsh. "You foolish woman."  
"I did not know my limits! I was unaware I had extended myself too far. I did not even know that such a thing was possible," she reasoned.

"Well now you do," he snapped. She glared at him for being so rough and crass and watched as his face carefully morphed into the softened expression that she was used to. "You cannot die after we survive a battle against odds such as that."  
"Is that the only reason?" she demanded.

He smiled then and she fought to keep a smile of her own from her face. "Meleth nin, how many times must I tell you that you will surely be the death of me?" he teased.

"At least once more," she retorted. "I am in no mood for you if you are going to be furious with me."  
"I think that 'concern' may be a better word," he replied.

"Mixed with fury," she barked back.

He rolled his eyes at her and took her chin his hand, staring into her eyes. "I love you, Arathell. I say the things I do because of that love I bear. All I want is your safety."

"You say that too often."

"Well would it make you feel better if I said that all I want is you… preferably alive?" He placed a kiss on her jaw but she looked anywhere but at him. He sighed. "Honestly I think it should be you comforting me, Arathell." Her eyes jumped back to him in surprise. "After all, this was your fault for making me worry."

She growled at him, but he didn't seem to mind. He only laughed and leaned in to take her lips before she could protest. They were soft, yet insistent against hers. He nipped at her bottom lip and she bit him right back, reminding him that she was trying to be angry. He only took that as an invitation, and his tongue pushed into her mouth then and conquered her own, still exhausted one without trouble. His hand held her head to him as he plundered her mouth. Arathell fought the moan building in her, when he purposefully swiped his thumb around the point of her ear she surrendered completely to him, moaning at his touch.

When at last he pulled away, he wore a smug smirk on his fair face and she glared. "You just took advantage of me," she pointed out. He laughed and reached for her hand, binding theirs together. "You are far too happy. If I supposedly nearly killed myself, you should be stricken with grief and fear."

"As I was when you woke," he told her quickly. "But now I see that your ire has not lessened in the least and I consider that good enough news to know that you are alright." She sighed in exasperation and watched him continue to toy with her hand. They were silent for a while, and she wanted to ask about the others and how everyone in the healing ward was faring and how long she had actually been asleep but… something told her that he needed this moment. "I truly was worried, Arathell," he finally said. "You have to know that I was."

Arathell finally smiled at him and pulled her hand out of his to touch his hair. "I know," she whispered. "I am sorry to have caused you to worry over me. I was truly unaware that I could tax such a gift too much. My other gift has never done so with me before so I never thought that this one could."  
"You fell to the floor after saving the first one," he reminded.

"I thought that that was just the effect of mastering my gift."

"And you were shaking after every other one."

"Then maybe I have not quite mastered it."

"Or maybe you did not have enough strength to do what you did."

"Clearly I had enough."  
"Stop it," he snapped and she closed her mouth and looked away. "I will not fight with you over this."

She carefully nodded and looked back at him. "I am sorry," she murmured. He nodded against her hand and placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist, making her shiver. "I will be careful in the future. I promise. I will even ask Gandalf if he knows any ways that may help me."

Aragorn nodded, appeased. "I can't lose you too soon," he said gently.

Arathell smiled. "I do not think you could," she murmured. She gave him a small pull to meet her lips with his. It was gentle, but she still relished it, smiling against his lips. "How are the others?" she finally asked, feeling her curiosity get the better of her.

He sighed and pulled away. "Those you saved are managing quite nicely. Lord Erkenbrand was found and was treated by one of the Elves following you; I do not know their names. He was not terribly injured and will be alright within a couple of days. Two other Elves came shortly after your fall. They found Haleth." She stared hard at him, reading his expression and the emotions in his mind. "He is alive. He suffered a head injury and sleeps now."

"He will be alright?" she breathed.

Aragorn was hesitant. "If he is able to wake, then he should be. Until then, nothing is known."

"His mother?" she pried, feeling her throat closing at the information. She feared for that boy, knowing that she had accepted him as being a part of her responsibility and she could not bear it if he was not alright.

"Passed when he was young," Aragorn replied. "He has no one."

"If he wakes –"

"He will be taken care of. I promise, Arathell. Whether he wakes or not, I will see to it personally." Arathell smiled grimly and felt his thumb wipe away the tears that leaked out. "This is not your fault. There was great commotion when we left the chamber in the final charge. There was no possible way to keep track of one another. You cannot blame yourself for what has happened. His wounds will heal. Whether his mind will remains to be seen," he told her.

"Maybe I can help him," she suggested.

"You need your strength, Gandalf says. He believes that you could not even heal a bruise in this state," Aragorn retorted. "And this is something that Haleth must do for himself if he wishes to live. You cannot heal him even at your full strength."

She sighed drearily but nodded. "So what happens now?" she asked.

"Well, Gandalf makes to ride for Isengard. Saruman's power is vanquished for the time being and there is much that we need to learn if we are to be at all successful. Saruman has knowledge," he relayed. She stared at him for a moment, seeing darkness grow in his mind at the mention of the Wizard.

"He does," she agreed softly. He ground his teeth and looked at her, seeming to understand her intentions very clearly. "Aragorn, I hate him more than you could ever know. Unlike you, I have been forced to listen to his power and have been forced to drink down every lie he has ever even whispered between his teeth. I have been powerless against him too many times, and I assure you that there is nothing that I would like more than to see him perish in the most gruesome of ways. He has destroyed many lives with his treachery and he deserves worse than even the Valar could give him for betraying us as he has. But…" she sighed and patted his hand carefully. "He was once the Head of the White Council. There are many secrets that he has kept, even from my all-knowing family. Saruman is vanquished, but he remains dangerous. We must tread carefully with him and ascertain all that he knows of the future. There may be something that he knows that we can benefit from."

"He deserves nothing but death," Aragorn argued.

"And I agree," she soothed. "But you let Grima go," she reminded. "And it is beyond any doubt that it was that snake that spilt all of Rohan's secrets to Saruman. How else could he have known that we fled here?" His face fell and he looked away. "You are not to blame. I was in total agreement with you when you saved him from Théoden. Nothing good could have come from the King executing his staff after experiencing life again. Doing the right thing simply has consequences that are sometimes difficult to live with. But it was the right thing." Aragorn still looked doubtful of her words. Arathell sighed dramatically and pulled her hands into her lap. "And who is going?"

He clicked his tongue before answering, "It will be myself, Théoden, Legolas, Gimli, Éomer, Erkenbrand, perhaps twenty of Théoden's Men, Gandalf of course, and then you, if you are feeling well enough for that travel. We go tonight."

She nodded. "I will gladly go," she replied. "I feel quite fine now."

Now he sighed and looked at her nervously. "I was entertaining the thought that you would remain here, where you can rest more," he mentioned.

Arathell shook her head and gave him a wry smile. "Well then it is good that you know me better than to think that that was something that I would actually do." He stared at her blankly. "Aragorn, you do not have the right to tell me all that I can and cannot do. I will follow you wherever it is that you go, but furthermore, I have my own pride that you should consider. I am a daughter of Elrond, granddaughter of Galadriel, descendent of Lúthien, and I am Shadow besides. Do you truly think that I am capable of remaining here whilst you and the others go – to Isengard, no less? Gleaning information from that villain or not, I am going to be there to at least see him in defeat."

He smiled softly. "You are also my One and are therefore more than all of those titles in my eyes. But nevertheless, I suppose I cannot be surprised," he drawled. "As always, I simply ask that you be careful."

"You love me simply because you know that you do not have to worry over me," she replied, sitting up in her bed and fixing her blankets.

"I worry even more over you because I love you," he disagreed simply, cocking his head to the side and looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You need to worry over countries and the world of Men. You need not waste time worrying over me."

"I do not consider worrying over you to be wasting my time, Arathell," he mentioned.

Arathell smiled then and took his hand. "I wish that times were different. I wish that we did not have to worry about the world." She scoffed. "I even wish that you did not have to be King, so that we could have the time to run away, just for a little while… without any worries or fears… no responsibilities."

He nodded and kissed the back of her hand. "Maybe someday."

Arathell rolled her eyes and could only shake her head dismally. "You're a King, Aragorn. You were a King first and need to be a King first because of that. I am merely an addition. There will never come a day without responsibilities for us."

Aragorn grinned smugly and leaned in a little so that their noses were touching. She fought a smirk and arched an eyebrow at him in question. The butterflies in her stomach took flight when she saw the storm in his grey eyes darken with excitement. "Glad you understand that it will forever be 'us', even when I am King." She tried to make a reply but all words seemed lodged in her throat. "Very queenly responsibilities you'll have," he teased.

"Oh, really?" she finally retorted playfully and skated her lips across his cheekbone to settle next to his ear. "And wifely responsibilities as well, I presume?" she murmured.

He shuddered and spun his head to capture her lips in a hungry kiss that made even the tips of her toes come alive. His hand went to her hair, seductively teasing the tip of her ear and making her a complete victim to his torture. The other lingered on her waist, tracing her curves so lightly that she almost couldn't feel it. She pushed back harder into his kiss, biting his lip to show her growing need and her disapproval of his teasing.

When he pulled away, they both could only look smugly at one another, but both conceding silently to need a moment to compose themselves. Aragorn soon stood and attached his sword to his hip. "Gandalf will need us soon, I suspect," he mentioned. "Come. If you are to join, you had best prepare yourself. The ride will not be pleasant and you have not even bathed since before the battle."

"It is not for you to mind when I have and have not bathed, Aragorn," she teased, but threw her blankets off of herself, finding that she had been placed into a rough nightgown that extended to her ankles. "How long since I fell in the healing ward?"

"Only a day," he replied, helping her up. "I will send for someone to draw up a bath for you. Your bathroom is just behind that door." He gave her a tender smile. "I will be quick."

He made to give her a kiss to the temple, but she pulled away and gave him a stern look. "I am not one to be overly affectionate; you should know. Don't ever question my feelings for you, but I am not one to show them at every turn, Aragorn. I am a warrior, meaning that I am more than a mere lady and my world does not revolve around your next touch."

Aragorn grinned and covered her lips with his fingers. "I would not have a mere lady, Arathell," he purred and she gave him a sly look, pushing his hand from her mouth. "I understand what you are saying. Give my surprise that we are together time to wear off and then I will be as cold and as unaffectionate as you." Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to give him a fierce retort but he beat her to it. "Arathell," he soothed. "I am not going to try to change you. This is who you are and I truly would not have you another way. However, the feelings I have borne for you have been with me all of my life. Now that we are what we are, I cannot help it. But for your sake, I will try."

She sighed and gave a gentle nod. "I do love you," she mentioned. "And I love being with you. But I am an Elf and change comes rather slowly to my race. And what we have now came quite rapidly and I am still trying to catch up to how my feelings could have grown so fast for you. It simply does not make sense and it is terrifying in that respect. You have me, Aragorn. But give me some time for you to have all of me."

He nodded. "I told you before that I will not have you rushing to satisfy my mortal desires. I also told you that this right here is enough for me. Knowing how you feel for me is more than I ever could have hoped for."

Arathell shuffled nervously on her feet and felt her lip tug upwards a little. "I think I would like my bath now, if you don't mind," she finally answered. "If we are to leave tonight then time is of the essence and it has been far too long since I have had a proper bath."

He laughed then and her nervousness was swept away with ease. "Alright, meleth nin, I shall send for your precious bath," he teased before finally leaving.

She sighed and walked into the bathing room. It was dry here and there were no windows, unlike in Edoras. Though even there the walls searched to lock away her soul. There was only cold stone to greet her, but the great tub held promise. A lonely mirror hung also in the room, dusty and partially cracked from misuse. She found herself staring into it, wondering if she looked different. Haldir thought so.

Her bottom lip quivered at the thought of her friend and she took a shuddering breath. Arathell wanted to look away from the mirror, too ashamed to even allow her reflection see her weep. Before Aragorn and Glorfindel, she knew that he was her greatest friend. In fact, he seemed more like a brother to her more often than Elrohir and Elladan combined.

How was it that she had such a family? Those whose blood ran in her veins were few in number. And there were fewer still within such a group that she felt close to. But now it seemed that her family was greater than she had ever imagined. The royals of Erebor, Haldir, the Fellowship… they were her family. And now she was forced to live through two of their deaths. How many more was she meant to endure? The Hobbits? What of Legolas and Gimli? Aragorn? Kara? She did not want to see any of them perish. But there was a feeling within her that said sadly that there would be more death.

Arathell had closed her mind for so long and had her heart locked away even longer. Her grandfather long endured trying to rid her of her stubbornness, but it seemed that it was the tender words and the simplicity of those she was surrounded by that broke her walls. They did not try to sneak around her walls. But it seemed now that she was only realizing how many had trekked easily beyond her defenses.

She focused her attention back to the reflection. There were little scars and scratches that decorated the expanse of her skin and she seemed smaller with the stone walls squeezing her form. Elves never did like stone, especially when it was the confining kind.

But there were differences. Her thick, rich hair bounced at the end. Each tendril wrapped around itself with a desire to hold on. Her lips seemed fuller, or at least more inclined to smile. Now, after all of Aragorn's kisses, they even appeared swollen. But the greatest change she could see in her features lay in the muddiness of her eyes. That was how they seemed before: mud. Thick and dull and more importantly, deprived of the beautiful uniformity of her race, they were. Now, there was a light that shone in them. They glinted even in the darkness of the room, a feeling that had been kindled and nurtured. They were not angry and full of hate. Before her, she could see her youth fall away like a great cloak. There was a sternness and wisdom that ached to be seen. But buried beneath those emblazoned pools, she saw love. She saw happiness and she saw peace and comfort. Arathell Duvainith had found a home. Her home was not found in stone, wood, or metal, but in a person.

Aragorn had become her home, and quite like her various families, he had become so with ease and without sneaking. He simply became her home. And she understood now more than ever that she was meant to stay beside him for the rest of her life.

* * *

 **And now we are back to the romance aspect a little! So that's kinda exciting. I mentioned early on in this story, that eventually you all are going to get so annoyed with all of the romance in here, so… prepare yourselves. But not too heavy, I hope, and I will be endeavoring to remain in character still. So PLEASE let me know if you see a divergence of character behavior from ANYONE.**

 **Any opinions on poor Haleth and his situation? Poor boy. Whatever is going to happen to him? Please leave a prediction!**

 **Also, "Meleth nin" means "my love" in Sindarin.**

 **Thanks so much for 550 reviews! Let's get up to 600 and give someone a one-shot!**

 **Check out the music! If you don't know this one... well... take this time educate yourselves!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	62. Chapter 62

**Hello, lovelies! Thank you all a bunch for the wonderful reviews! I was actually quite surprised at how attached everyone has gotten to Haleth, the poor boy! But it is great to hear! And also great to hear that you guys still are enjoying the romance. Lucky for you, there will indeed be much more. I know that I haven't responded to some of your reviews yet, and I do apologize. Yesterday, I moved back to university, but NOT before my computer decided to have a mental breakdown. Never fear, Love (because that is his name) is alive and well again! BUT, I am going to hold off on responding to your reviews and PMs until tomorrow, because I am still butt tired from two days of moving. As such, I am going to plead that you forgive any little errors you see in the chapter. Of course let me know, and maybe I can fix them but… yeah this chapter may not be up to par.**

 **On another note, this is the last chapter for Part Four! Part Five comes in next week! Ah! As I was telling another reader, this story has in total six parts and an epilogue, so we are actually beginning to close in on the end… but it is still a LONG WAY off, so no worries. :D**

 **Okay, I'm done.**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Four – We Don't Need

Wunderkind - Alanis Morissette

"I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment  
I am a wunderkind oh oh oh oooooh  
And I lift the envelope pushed far enough to believe this  
I am a princess on the way to my throne"

* * *

After her bath, Arathell walked calmly throughout the bustling halls of Helm's Deep. There were still many who were fighting to clean away the aftermath of the battle and even more who were looking hopelessly for fallen loved ones. Arathell's feet carried her to the healing ward to look for her own fallen one.

Haleth was found quickly and she sat down beside him and pulled his hand into her lap, running her thumb along his knuckles. There were no words that she could offer. He was a child and that knowledge stunted any comfort she could bring to him or to herself for that matter. He did not deserve to be here. He did not deserve to be forced to take part in this war.

But he had no one. She knew his thoughts: Why should I not fight? Who would miss me? I have no one.

Arathell reached to rest her hand on his head, tendering stroking the freshly washed hair. She could still feel his thoughts and his character running around under her fingertips. His mind raced around and argued against the more self-destructive thoughts, which at least gave her some comfort. His mind wanted life, and the beating of his heart clearly stated the same thing.

She could only pray to the Valar that he would fight hard enough against the venom of grief long enough for him to see that he could be loved and that he would be missed.

She sighed and leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead before turning around to leave the ward. At its entrance, she saw Gorthion and Brastor. Though they both looked harsh, Brastor made steady eye contact with her while Gorthion's head was raised high in arrogance. From his face alone, she knew that all of the errands she had asked of him were very much considered beneath him, and evidently, he wasn't going to be afraid to show that.

"The King wished for us to inform you of our departure within the hour," Brastor said when she approached. "A meal has been made and waits for you before we leave."

"You will ride with us?" she asked as they made their way to the Great Hall.

"We will ride with you, as we stated before," Brastor agreed.

"And for how long will you persist in doing so?" she rounded. "Your home is in the woods, away from the world of Men. I would not begrudge you wishing to be in your realm where peace may reign a little longer. Surely you would wish to stand alongside your friends and loved ones when the end comes?"

Brastor hesitated, but not out of shyness she noticed. Finally, Gorthion spoke, still refusing to meet her gaze, "Do you think we have any left?" Arathell stared at him. "Do you think we would linger as long as we have if there were better things for us to be doing?" His speech descended into Sindarin and his voice crept lower until they stopped completely in hall, people walking to and fro around them. "Foolish girl," he spat. Brastor ground his teeth but he did not say anything. "It is not just the world of Men that will fall. Even Galadriel's head will be found pierced on a spike before the year is through. Your pretty sister's purity will flow red between her legs as she begs for death. No doubt yours has already been taken from you, but the Enemy loves his quims. A warrior Elven woman, full of fire and full of passion – what fun could he have with you?" Her fingers danced anxiously on the side of her thigh, begging silently for another quip from him that would give her permission to cut his throat. "We will die," he continued. "Everyone in this blasted world will die. I care not why the others linger in your presence – perhaps for overeager Women to fill – but I come to die. I will not stand as the last. The quicker Death comes, the better."

She pursed her lips for a moment before taking a step in closer to him, staring into his hard iron eyes. "You do not strike me as a patient man," she murmured in Sindarin back to him. "Why not surrender during the battle if Death is what you crave?"

"I will not be named a coward," he spat.

"Then why do you stay with me?" she continued. "Why not ride into the throes of the Enemy with your sword ringing and with a battle cry on your lips? Why go to Isengard for information when there are battles raging all across Middle-Earth?"

He stared at her for a moment and then craned his head down to truly meet her gaze. Fires were stoked in his eyes and the sharpness of his cheeks seemed to cut away all sound around them so that his voice shattered all senses, "A Woman is unable to deny an Elven warrior… perhaps Elven women can fall victim as well," he growled.

Brastor appeared suddenly, catching his elder by surprise and throwing him hard against the wall. "We owe her our lives," he snapped, holding the lapels of his tunic.

Gorthion merely smiled, unbothered and unafraid of the bigger and stronger Brastor. "What life is that? The one where we live to battle for another day? That does not sound like a life to me." He shrugged Brastor off of him and left, giving her a cold, but suggestive look before walking out of the hall completely.

Arathell held her head high, unafraid of his threats. Unfortunately, she was not new to remarks such as those. It was different hearing them come from one of her own race, but it was something she had learned to live with. Lesser Men of older days had written the scripts and Orcs even along with an occasional Dwarf were found later to be uttering them in her direction.

Pointedly, it was her sex that cast her into their metaphorical pits. Men away from home for so long with poor food in their bellies often altered the looseness of their tongues… and hardened other things.

"Do you truly desire for him to continue following?" Brastor asked, interrupting her thoughts. She looked hard at him as she evaluated the question. "You could send him away."

"Would he listen to me?"

"He would listen to Lagordir."

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "I have seen his mind. He follows your leader out of convenience. If Gorthion desires to remain, I do not believe that there is anything that would keep him from doing so."

"Not even your lover?" Brastor rounded.

Arathell considered that for a moment. Aragorn likely would step in to aid her if she asked for it, and she knew that his fury with the Elf would be great as Aragorn was a _slightly_ protective Man. She wasn't sure she wanted to encounter his possessive side. "I have dealt with vermin like Gorthion since before Aragorn was born. It is nothing that I cannot handle."

Brastor hesitated and they began walking again. Time was growing shorter now for her to have any food, but it did not particularly matter to her if dinner was provided or not. If she craved food at all, she would manage.

"Will you at least tell him of what has happened?" Brastor asked.

Arathell shrugged. "I have a suspicion that he would be upset if I withheld that information," she agreed. "But as such, there is nothing he can do about the situation without attempting to send him away." She paused. "Despite his vulgar tongue, Gorthion survived the battle of Helm's Deep, which can only imply that he has a good aim and a strong arm. Both things will be needed in this war, and I will not be picky about who lends their assistance to this cause. Aragorn will survive, as will I." She glanced at Brastor who remained silent. "You do not strike me as the type of man to speak out of turn about things that do not directly concern him."

It was an order masked in the subtlety of a soft-spoken observation. And he knew that; she could see it in his eyes. He still did not say anything but he gave her a curt nod, signaling his understanding.

As she predicted, she was not graced with enough time for a proper meal. But she managed to stow an apple into a saddle bag and she wasn't extremely hungry besides. Elves were much more resilient that other races when it came to hunger, and though her body could probably use the food after her collapse, she trusted still that she would be alright. Hunting was always an option.

When she approached the stables, she found Hasufel with ease. She and the horse had not developed any kind of bond other than mutual respect. He was a horse bred with the single intention to follow. He was not resistant and barely even acknowledged her as she settled all of her things onto him. Faerdhinen, though she was quiet and also was not keen to disobey, had a fire stoked in her belly. She appeared as a symbol of hope, gleaming proud and white that would make even Shadowfax maybe turn his head. But underneath her molten brown eyes, Arathell could sense the devotion and loyalty the animal bore for her. Though they had not had much time to expand their friendship, Arathell already knew that she and her mount were one and the same.

"I was beginning to wonder after you," his voice called, appearing beside her with Brego's bridles held loosely in his hand. "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head but patted the saddle bag. "I have packed some goods should I become hungry on the road. I was not hungry."

"What kept you then?" he asked.

Arathell cast a glance at him from the corner of her eye. His tone was suspicious and it made her wonder if her encounter with Gorthion was not as private as she would have expected. She considered lying to him and fabricating a story of her whereabouts, but something told her that he would hate that more than the truth. But that was still something she did not particularly care to explain to him. "You never told me of how you became acquainted with the deceased Prince's horse," she finally commented.

He understood her avoidance instantly, as she expected. Thankfully, he seemed to trust her enough to not probe further, but she was sure of his curiosity. Brastor was unfortunately correct. This was something that Aragorn would learn of whether by her will or not. "The Men at Edoras deemed him unfit to ride with us here. He was driven mad by the grief of losing his master and war had traumatized him."

Arathell looked the animal up and down, evaluating. He was larger than Hasufel and was a rich dark brown, almost black. Instead of a molten spark that was in the eyes of her Faerdhinen, Brego's eyes were nothing but sheer flame. There was no fear, only strength and determination. "Apparently the Men at Edoras misunderstand trauma," she regarded. "He reminds me of you, meleth nin."

He smiled at the name but turned and brushed his hand down the beast's neck. "I was able to soothe him," he explained. "Brego found me when I fell from the cliff. He brought me all this way. Now, I will have no other mount. That is why Hasufel is no longer needed by me." Arathell grinned back and reached to pet the stallion's nose. Soft velvet greeted her fingertips and she sighed. "He has not let others touch him since meeting me."

"No doubt he understands your ties to me." She sighed once more and withdrew her hand. "It makes me miss my mare. I wish I could have brought her with me on this journey. She is very adept at passing me comfort."

"What ensued with your other mount, Dunwulf?"

"Killed in the battle your nearly got killed in," she answered brusquely. "He was a noble animal and given the chance, I would grieve him properly. I knew him for less than a week, but it was still my responsibility to ensure his safety and I failed to do so. I would have grieved him then had you not fallen." Aragorn nodded and tenderly pushed his fingers into her hair, twirling little pieces around his fingers. "I cannot tell you how I feared you would never touch me this way again," she added quietly in Sindarin. "I thought I lost you with you not knowing how I truly felt about you."

Aragorn shook his head and bumped his forehead on hers. "Do not dwell on things that did not come to be. I am here now and we have made our affections for one another clear. There are no regrets to be felt at all."

She nodded in confirmation and patted Brego's nose again before turning to Hasufel. She pulled him free from his stable and walked him outside with Aragorn and Brego. Once out of doors, they mounted their animals quickly and trotted around as they waited for the others. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gorthion emerge from the stables with a jet black stallion, by far the largest of the horses present, save Brego.

He gave her a sultry look when she made eye contact, but she broke it instantly and came up alongside Aragorn, making her position next to him clear. Aragorn must have noticed her concern and looked to see the Elf still looking in their direction. Aragorn sighed and stared at her. "There is no use in lying to me, Arathell," he muttered. "What has he done?"

She ground her teeth and harrumphed with displeasure. "It is not a situation that I cannot handle, Aragorn. Gorthion is vile for sure but he knows better than to do anything more than look."

"And threaten?" he guessed.

She pursed her lips. "It's nothing I can't handle."

Aragorn sighed from beside her. "I trust you, Arathell. But I do not think I could be convinced that we are safer with him in our presence. What does his heart say?"

They continued riding along, closer to the ends of the city. Arathell noticed her other followers flanking Gorthion. Brastor looked beyond furious and Lagordir looked out of his depth with concern. Amdir's soft expression clearly stated that he knew nothing of the incident.

Arathell elected not to respond. More than likely, Aragorn had made his opinion of Gorthion and there would be little that she could say to convince him otherwise. Every word would be a lie through her lips anyway. He took her silence well enough and did not probe further, understanding her meaning.

Another rider appeared beside them. He was old but his smile was young and there was a brightness in his eyes that reminded her of Balin. "The Lord and Lady of Healing," he remarked with a hint of awe.

"Lord Erkenbrand," Aragorn greeted with an inclination of his head.

With another bright grin, he unabashedly took her hand resting at her side to place a fierce kiss on the back. Shocked by his actions, she pulled her hand away once his lips left her skin. "I apologize for my forwardness, my lady," he said happily, not sounding at all remorseful. She cast a glance at Aragorn, who did not seem particularly bothered by the Rohirric Man's gestures. "You saved one of my Men that day in the healing ward. I was there for some healing of my own, but the magic you possess… it stunned us all. I came to merely tell you of my gratitude for helping my Men. Both you and Lord Aragorn with us gave us a hope that we had not dared to have for some time."

Arathell was unsure of how to respond to such elaborate thanks. She had never been used to such high praise or recognition. With her own people, she was nothing more than another warrior who only happened to be the daughter of Elrond and sister to Arwen. And to other races, she was Shadow – a threat that loomed in the backs of every traveler's minds and lurked in wayward dreams. Now she was being praised as if she were royalty and there was pure, genuine admiration for her. "I only was trying to help," she finally stated. "I'm confident that everyone was doing all that they could. Your thanks are not owed to me singularly, my lord."

He appraised her carefully, and for the first time in her life, she actually felt like a child in the gaze of a Man. There was surprise burning through his crystal blue eyes and there was pride. Despite her age being hundreds of times greater than his, he beheld her as if she were a child. Her act of help was unlooked for and her nonchalant response to his gratitude was even more astounding to the veteran, she assumed. But what else was there for her to say? She supposed that she could brandish her skills more and display a perhaps healthy dose of arrogance, but she could not find it within herself to do so.

"You are very humble, my lady," he drawled. "I cannot imagine another with abilities such as yours that would have nearly as much grace as you do. What you did for Rohan… it was greater than any miracle I have seen. You volunteered yourself for a battle that was not yours to fight; you gave hope where there was none; and then you saved lives that could not have been hoped to be saved."

She found herself blushing at the words and fleetingly looked to Aragorn for assistance. He shook his head and gave her a smile. "Meleth nin, these are words that you have long needed to hear," he murmured.

"Have I upset you, my lady?" Erkenbrand resounded.

"No, it is only that Lady Arathell is unaccustomed to such praise when it comes from someone other than myself," Aragorn answered for her. "It pleases me at least to know that there is another who can tell her the things I have tried to convince her of for so long."

"I was not searching for praise, my lord," Arathell said carefully.

"That was obvious to all," Erkenbrand replied easily enough. He must have noticed the look on her face for he soon added, "I leave you."

She stared at the reins for some time, feeling the horse mechanically sway her from side to side as she balanced. She likened the motion to her life actually. Forever, she was constantly balancing who she was. There were times where she felt restrained and looked down on. She walked to avoid the harsh stares of her people and fought to be recognized as anything more than a trained killer and a sister of Arwen. Her own race had boxed her into that role. But then there were times where she felt free and wild… She garnered authority and respect anywhere she trekked. People feared her whirlwind of destruction and wisdom, never knowing which they would be struck with. In those moments, she was untamed and able to do anything she wished without the world telling her otherwise.

But never had she been admired. Respect was different. Respect was something she could use, could manipulate. Whether it was born out of fear or acknowledgement of her skills, it did not matter. People would grudgingly respect her and what she could do and what insights she had. Authority was given so others did not need to make decisions, especially if they were hard decisions.

Admiration was something she had dreamt of and wished she could have. The look of wonder that her sister earned without even trying would always throw Arathell's heart to the dogs. The look of inspiration that her grandmother held when people saw that light she emanated would kick Arathell back like she was some dirty, impure thing. Her father was admired for his strength, despite the fact that she knew of his empty hope for the world's outcome. Her brothers were admired simply for their steadfastness. And her grandfather admired for the calm, cool exterior that could rationalize any worry and turn it to dust even if he had worries of his own tucked away under lock and key inside of his mind.

Arathell was not admired. Yet now, in front of Rohan, there were men, women, and children who looked at her as if she was their savior. She did not know any of the names of the Men she had saved in the healing ward, and she was unaware of any she had saved during the battle. But they looked at her as if she truly was the miracle that Erkenbrand labeled her as.

And despite having wanted this for so long, she almost was afraid of it. What would happen once they saw who she was? If they could see the darkness and jealousy pent up and raging behind her eyes, would they still admire her? If they saw the selfish love she bore for Aragorn would they admire her? If Aragorn left, would they be quick to turn on her when she followed after him? What if they saw the coldness she shrouded herself in? She knew she bore love for some and she did what she could for many, but what if they really saw how much disregard she could bear for them all? Haleth was a boy locked away in the dark corners of his mind and there was nothing for her to do. And even though she did what she could when he was still whole, a part of her stopped trying once Aragorn told her of his fate. She turned that part of her mind off. If the boy died then he could not live on her conscience. There were countless people she had failed already and had pushed away from her thoughts. She could not allow a list to form or it would be the death of her. All of them… all dead… she had forced herself to forget each name, each face, each plea for help. What would happen if they saw that?

"I don't deserve this," she finally uttered, mostly to herself, the realization striking her like a whip. It even made tears mist her eyes. She blinked them away furiously and looked up and away from the reins. She could feel Aragorn's eyes on her and undoubtedly, he heard her confession. She expected him to disagree, to be vocal about how wrong she supposedly was about her opinion of herself.

But he did not say a word to her. It surprised her certainly and she realized that she was even stung with his nonchalance. The storm in his grey eyes was silent – nothing more than a dreary rain as he stared at her. She waited, even thinking of praying for him to argue with her. "What shall I say?" he drawled. Her lips pursed and she broke the eye contact. "Will it convince you or will you have a counter to quiet me?" he continued.

Arathell gnawed on her bottom lip. "I value your thoughts, Aragorn, especially when they concern me. It may not seem this way, but at times they are the words I hold onto when I feel at my worst."

"Why only at your worst?" Aragorn retorted. "Why are my words so important when you are alone yet inconsequential when surrounded by others?"

"Because I can escape my insecurities when I am around others," she replied with a sigh. "My darker thoughts take me when there is no one to protect me from them."

"Why do you want protecting from them if they are what you truly think of yourself?"

"I do not want to think of myself this way, Aragorn," she reasoned, but she found herself quickly losing the battle. It was as if he had prepared himself for this moment. "I wish I could see myself the way you see me or as Lord Erkenbrand sees me."

"Erkenbrand does not know you," Aragorn snapped. "But I have known you all of my life. I have seen your deeds and have loved you since before I could speak."

"Perhaps your vision of my deeds was clouded by this love." He fell silent again. All expressions were swept clean from his face and he looked ahead again as if he were thinking of the weather. She waited anxiously for him to reply, to tell her that this was not true. But his silence frightened her. What if she had convinced him of her words? What if he now thought that he was wrong about her? What if he left her? "You fall silent?" she said hoarsely. He shrugged, still calm, but thoughtful. She attempted to look into his mind to have her worries proven wrong, but he was infuriatingly empty. No one had denied her gift and shut her away, yet he did so with a mere shrug. "Aragorn, don't," she pleaded. Everyone around her seemed to disappear as she watched his every move. She did not care if she humiliated herself in front of the whole of Rohan – she would not lose Aragorn – not after how hard she vied for him. Her anger was beginning to grow and she snapped her arm out to grab hold of his. "Do not ignore me," she threatened, but he still seemed unbothered.

"Why?"

"It is always 'why?' with you," she growled, retracting her hand from the burn that his words scorched her with. "You try and you try to convince me otherwise of who I am. You try and you try to tell me that I am beautiful and that I am more than what I have been named. If you loved me at all, you would not be trying to change me!" The words were flying from her mouth now and despite knowing that this was neither the time nor the place to be saying them, she found that she could not stop. "I like who I am, Aragorn. I have seen things and done things that you would never dream of. I have been thrown into the dirt by my own people and yet I climb still from the mud they have hurled at me. I am not Arwen or my brothers or my father. I am a blemish within my family and I am proud of it! They hide behind smiles and words and are forced to tread softly because of their darker thoughts. They are thrown roses and yet they smell worse than I. My father has helped me but I would be a fool to think that he has done all that he can. He allowed Arwen to tell me I was a poison. He allowed her to tell me that I don't deserve love. He allowed my people to throw their mud at me. Yet here I stand. I have made the journeys. I have protected the peoples of this world. The Dwarves of Erebor celebrate my visits and I am revered by the Men of Rohan. And I am loved, whether deserving or not, by the King of Gondor. None of my family can say such things. They can pull me through the mud as they wish, but it is not them being thanked for saving Rohan's people."

After her rant, she fell back again into her world and saw that every Man within their small party was staring at her, some with nervousness and others with downright fear. But with each of them, she could see a certain pride that emanated from them. Her speech had minimal things to do with them, yet they seemed rallied even harder to her anyway. The Elves may have thrown dirt on her name and hid her from their children's eyes but amidst these Men, she was a Queen, someone to not only respect, but to admire.

"I have never wanted to change you, meleth nin," Aragorn's voice called her back to him. She met his gaze and saw that same pride in his own eyes and something beyond love – an emotion that could not have possibly had a word to describe its depth and truth. "I merely wanted to show you who you are," he murmured.

Tears appeared in her eyes before she could stop them and she looked down, embarrassed. He was right all along and her own demand for respect just now had proved it. She was more than what her race said about her and she was proud to be the woman she was. And 'woman' could not have been a better description of who she was. She had waited all of her life to feel this whole and it was because of his beautiful smile now that she felt it at last. She was home with him and everywhere with him would be home to her. And the people would gravitate to her not because of her battlefield strategies or her fearlessness in the face of danger…but because of her devotion to them. She never would have to worry about abandoning them to follow Aragorn because they would follow her. They _loved_ her – _her._

She would forsake her immorality in that very moment if she was not so swept up by her revelations. She did not need the long years of life to feel like she was living. Being with him and being with everyone else would be enough – she did not need eternity.

Arathell found herself laughing, something that perhaps she had done recently, but the joy and warmth she felt was immeasurable. She was home. Arathell Duvainith was home at last, after searching for almost three thousand years, she found it. She belonged somewhere and with someone.

Smiles were touching her everywhere she looked, all shining with pride. These were not her people and they were not the Gondorians that would become her people. But at that moment, for the first time in her life, she felt like she did not have to worry about the Men of Gondor and what they would think of her. If they were anything like the Men of Rohan and history dictated they were greater still, then what was there to fear? The Men of Númenor would be her own.

"If we are quite finished," another voice interrupted and Shadowfax appeared at her side. There was a smile in Mithrandir's eyes, the twinkle greater than she had ever seen it. He had waited for her realization longer than even Aragorn had. "There is more work to be done." They appeared on the rim of the valley, the wreckage of a battered Helm's Deep behind them.

In the distance, growing evermore menacing was the fiery red gloom and pillars of smoke that collided like a great hand, reaching further and further from a dark horizon. Her smile fell from her face as the world caught her again. Even Hasufel shifted underneath her with the sight. There were thunderous crack that broke through the red glare, flashes of light that blinded and thrashed. Anger was festering in the heart of the world, radiating outwards and covering the green of the world in shadow.

They rode at the forefront of the company, Mithrandir perched in the middle with his white staff erect in defiance of the darkness. Théoden, Éomer, Erkenbrand, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, and herself all united on the rim. Races from around the shrinking world stood with chins raised in defiance and arrogance. Gondor fell in beside Rohan, joined with Mirkwood and alongside Erebor and all of Valinor itself. Hope was kindled in her heart, at least for the moment. She knew not if it was true hope as she had never truly felt it before, but she could think of no other word to describe the spark that danced in her soul. It was dark in the distance, but above her head there was still light. And that would be enough for her.

"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift," Mithrandir stated. "The Battle for Helm's Deep is over. The Battle for Middle Earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two young Hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness," he finished.

"What of Saruman?" Erkenbrand remarked, his kind voice swirling around deep tones now, glistening with a threat that matched the fire in his steely eyes. "Whatever will his prize be?" he drawled.

"Justice," Théoden growled in response, kicking his horse to a hefty trot down the other side of the valley and towards the distant spike of Orthanc standing alone out of the cocoon of Sauron's shadow.

The Rohirrim rode on after him, including Éomer and Erkenbrand. The other four horses stood still on the precipice. They stared at one another, a moment to recognize their united stance. They began this journey together months ago with a single intention. Now, goals were mixed and coupled to others but their Fellowship had not changed. There were more individuals present, and some of the original members were defending on a different ground, but they stayed true to one another, through everything. In the one look they traded with one another, there was a familial bond born and a soft consolation that on some level, it did not matter. They were together and regardless of endings, together they would stay.

* * *

 **Little light with the romance, but I think it is enough to tide you all over. But oh my heavens, what on earth is going on with our Arathell? Ideas?**

 **Any more opinions about Elves? Please let me know! I am curious to see what you are thinking about each of these guys… they do have parts to play!**

 **What about predictions for Haleth? Any scene you are waiting to see in Return of the King? Let me know!**

 **AGAIN, I WILL RESPOND TO PM'S TOMORROW!**

 **Check out the music!**

 **P.S. We are 33 reviews away from 600! Someone is going to be getting a one-shot soon!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	63. Chapter 63

**Hello, lovelies! Oh, my heavens, we are in PART FIVE! I really can't believe that we have made it this far, and thank you everyone who has reviewed and followed and favorited. You're all great!**

 **Aside from it now being Part FIVE, please remember that the part titles come from the song, "Life is Beautiful" from Vega4. Give it another listen!**

 **Also! (Last bit) We are only 26 reviews away from someone getting a one-shot! I don't think we'll get there this chapter, but you never know. Everyone please remember that PM's need to be on so that I can converse with you!**

 **Return of the King, here we come!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

The Unholy - Slash featuring Myles Kennedy and the Conspirators

"Echoes of your true intentions  
Well I guess you failed to mention  
What was in your heart  
Now I say it all so clearly  
What you did to them has nearly  
Torn us all apart"

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 **March 8, 3019 – Isengard**

The forest that they trekked through was new. Or rather, it had not been there previously and had only been borrowed by some of the trees from the deeper places of Fangorn. Arathell figured that to give armor and weapons to ten thousand creatures, a great deal of forges would have been needed, and the riddle Gandalf had given them when they first discovered him had never been clearer to her. Trees could be vengeful.

She was excited to see Merry and Pippin again and know for certain that they were alright. There was a small chance that they were not, but she trusted Gandalf and his words regarding their safety. Ents were one of the few things that she had never seen before in her life, and at the prospect of being to not only see one, but also meet one, she was very excited.

Everything about her seemed to be in an overdrive of happiness, and it sickened even her to a degree. Legolas had done nothing but tease her while Aragorn had smiled proudly at her every now and again. Gandalf would roll his eyes and Gimli had even barked several orders for Legolas to cease his yapping about it, invoking a higher tally in regards to something and therefore his superiority.

But Arathell had not cared. For once in her life, she felt like she fit into the puzzle and there would be nothing that could be said to dissuade her from feeling the way that she did.

At almost regular intervals, the Men of Rohan had approached her with their gratitude. There were still moments where she felt unsure of herself and all of the praise that she was receiving, but Aragorn would throw her a knowing look, reminding her of their conversation and she could only hold her head higher and take the words of thanks with a smile.

After practically all of Rohan's Men had thanked her, Arathell was finally left to have some peace. In that time, she dwindled partially with the Elves in her company. She felt as though she knew them each enough to know who they were at their basest level and she knew which of them could be trusted. Both Brastor and Lagordir had sparked her confidence relatively quickly after she had first met them, but she placed her greatest confidence into Brastor. He was an intimidating character, but she could see that he merely wanted to be strong for those around him. Why he felt this way, she had yet to fully understand, as all of those in his company were of good mental stock, besides Gorthion.

Lagordir was simply gentle, but there was firmness in his eyes that dared to be trifled with.

Amdir was a slightly different character. She feared that he was perhaps too carefree. He used his hopeful and youthful face to mask an uncertainty. He wanted to be naïve about the world, despite being such a large part of the war. Regardless of how sweet the boy was, she could never trust someone who had turned their back to the world that strongly. It reminded her too much of what Arwen enjoyed doing.

Gorthion had already established that they would never be friends and he was someone to watch very closely. Arathell was even concerned that upon meeting Saruman and his pet that the Elf would change alliances, even if Gorthion had just battled against the Wizard nights ago.

At the moment, her original Elven companion and Dwarf were bickering back and forth. Legolas was completely enamored with the trees that had sprung up around them, while Gimli was trying desperately to convince Legolas of the beauty found in Helm's Deep's caves. She had learned that the two of them struck an accord, agreeing that at the end of their great journey, Legolas would agree to explore the marvels of the caves with Gimli if only the Dwarf agreed to venture into Fangorn Forest with him.

"I simply cannot understand the fascination with trees," Gimli groaned, clearly sensing that Legolas's wonder was not about to disappear to talk about a pile of heaping rock. Truthfully, Arathell found both visages fair to gaze upon, but as an Elf, she would never have the ability to claim that stone was fairer than earth.

"But the Ents!" Legolas replied in an excited breath. "Their eyes have seen as many days and nights as your mountains have, if not longer. Their wisdom runs through the entire earth, my friend! It is raw emotion, a frayed nerve that gives us access to the ground beneath our feet!"

She smiled at the claim. "Being from Mirkwood would give you such a love, I would suspect," she remarked. "Though I confess my deep appreciation for the wild plants in Fangorn and for the Ents, I daresay your love runs deeper than even mine!"

Legolas grinned, eyes never falling from the trees. "As children in Mirkwood – Greenwood it was then – it was part of our teachings to experience the earth. Our eyes were directed towards the heavens and the stars, but here, beneath our feet is the heaven that the stars gaze upon. We treat each life with recognition and respect them. The trees present in Fangorn are clearly more active than the trees of my woods; however, all trees have souls. To understand such beauty is… well, it is breathtaking. Elves fawn over the sea and the promise of home away from these shores, and though I do crave for such a release one day… Eru has given such beauty here."

Again, she smiled and looked around at the trees herself, feeling her eyes begin to close as her gift reached out to touch the tenderness of each of the souls around her. The peace was broken not even a moment later with Gimli scoffing and then falling into laughter. "The Lady of the Golden Wood possesses trees quite fair, but nevertheless, they are trees! They can be found virtually anywhere!" Gimli laughed. "Elves and your wisdom – you look at the stars for their twinkling light, and yet when I mention the glittering caves of Rohan, you turn your nose away from it and gaze at wood coming out of brown dirt."

"Their souls are beautiful, Gimli. Elves have always recognized it," she mentioned.

"Stones possess souls as well, each with their own voice when you touch it with a hammer. Why, the Arkenstone of Erebor has long been known as the _Heart_ of the Mountain."

She and Legolas shared a glance, rolling their eyes at Gimli's words, but not fighting back against them all the same. Despite the friendship the three had built, she knew better than to think that she or Legolas would ever be able to convert Gimli to anything other than a perhaps slightly more informed Dwarf.

When they began getting closer, she abandoned the Elves and moved in closer to Aragorn at the front of the company. They gave one another small smiles, neither of them having proper words to comfort one another about what they were about to experience. Aragorn had never met the Wizard, but that kind of foundation was not needed to properly house his dislike for him. And Arathell's venomous words were even more of an indicator, she was sure.

In the distance, she could see the great tower of Orthanc, looming high in the air with a look of defeat. The trees had squeezed the whole of Isengard as if drawing out a poison. Smoke pillared high in the sky mingling with steam, and it was only a moment later that she realized where the steam had come from. Water helped to pave their way closer and before long, their company fell silent when tinkling, joyful laughs danced through the boughs of the trees above them.

Her face erupted in a smile and she squirmed a little in the seat with anticipation. Hearing her two little Hobbits laughing had been a sound she had feared that she would never hear again, and even if those laughs were numbered now, hearing them at that moment was better than any word of thanks Rohan could give her.

When they finally emerged through the trees, she saw the two precious things sitting – rather proudly perched on a disheveled stone wall, each holding a mug in one hand and a pipe in the other. Arathell found herself laughing instantly. Pippin cackled happily and threw his mug out in greeting while an inebriated Merry carefully climbed to his feet. "Welcome my lords and lady to Isengard!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the still smoking tower behind him.

"You young rascals!" Gimli rattled. "A merry hunt you've led us on and we find you here feasting and-and smoking!" he scolded but she could only laugh harder.

"We are sitting on the field of victory enjoying a few well-earned comforts," Pippin disagreed calmly while Merry smoked. "The salted pork is particularly good," he slurred.

"Salted pork?" Gimli remarked, all anger evaporating from his tone within an instant.

"Hobbits," she heard Gandalf mutter in partial hopelessness.

"We're under orders," Merry continued, "from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard."

"And Quickbeam, too of course," Pippin added.

"Oh, yes, and Quickbeam – cannot possibly forget Quickbeam," Merry agreed hurriedly.

"Can't be too hasty, Merry," Pippin teased.

Merry laughed and slapped his thigh with a great smile. "Not too hasty at all, Pip," he giggled.

She heard Gandalf grumbling and watched him approach the two. The tension in his shoulders made them pause in their gaiety but after a moment she saw them laughing yet again and Gandalf passed through. "You are going to take us to Treebeard. We must trade words with Saruman," the Wizard ordered.

Arathell led her horse up to the two of them quickly and grinned brightly. "You are not to scare me in such a way again; is that understood?" she stated and both of them looked slightly remorseful. "You gave us a great many riddle whilst we were chasing after you and I do not like not knowing these sorts of things." She sighed and reached her hand out to Merry. "Come along now, Merry." Merry, sobering a little, carefully climbed behind her onto Hasufel and gripped her around her waist tightly.

She noticed Aragorn reaching for Pippin and saw with pride as the Halfling reattached his fallen brooch the four of them had found chasing after them. "It was very clever," Aragorn praised. "And it gave us hope."

Their whole troop followed hurriedly after Gandalf with the horses neighing in annoyance with the water rising around their legs.

Ahead of her, she saw a great tree, or what appeared to be a tree at first. Moss and cobwebs fell like hair around a stunted trunk with branches sticking out at the sides and two great legs rooted to the ground. A beard fell with tangles and colors of brown and green down the main trunk, and the wind had no impact on him. Arathell had never before seen an Ent, but there was no doubt in her mind that that was exactly what she was currently seeing.

As they got even closer, the eyes of the magnificent creature caught her attention and held it there for an uncountable amount of moments. The color, she could see was yellow, but it was incomparable to any other yellow she had ever seen in her life. Two great, black pupils glittered like a shallow pool in sunlight while also appearing darker and farther away than the darkness of the sky. In those eyes, she could see happiness, but there was a great song buried even deeper, tired with age and filled with woe. They moved slowly over her troop, either scanning with boredom or seeing everything like they were words. She had never before seen such eyes and she pulled Hasufel closer to him, craning her head high.

"Young, Master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come," a great voice rumbled, shaking her heart in her chest. The words were slow and precise, sounding like a timeless waterfall. "Wood and water, stock and stone, I can master," he continued. He sounded as though he was purring or like the words came from a deeper source than his mouth, rather from the ground under them. "But there is a Wizard to manage here, locked in his tower." Clearly, he had taken no notice of her, but her eyes were transfixed on his beauty, older and greater than anything this world had ever shown her. His roots were deeper than even some of her family and the wisdom he possessed was greater too, she supposed. He was magnificent in his age.

"Show yourself," she heard Aragorn mutter beside her and only then did she take her eyes away from the Ent and looked beyond him to the darkness of Orthanc. The stone was glittering from splashed on water, but the crevices and chipping revealed its defeat. Up and up she looked to the very top where four great spikes pierced the sky, resolute and prideful.

"Be careful," Gandalf warned. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."

"Well then let's just have his head and be done with it," Gimli growled.

"No," Gandalf snapped with serenity. "We need him alive. We need him to talk." She could not begin to imagine his thoughts at that moment. Confident in his power, even that meant nothing. Saruman had been a friend for far too long and whatever was about to happen was going to hurt Gandalf and maybe even his image of his beautiful Middle Earth.

An eerie voice crept over the tips of Orthanc, spilling out and spreading as a poison and her heart instantly stilled and all thoughts departed quickly from her mind. "You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King and made peace afterwards," Saruman cawed. His words were musical, laced with deception that made her wince and look away. "Can we not take council together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?" he continued and she finally steadied her breath to stare up at him. Saruman the White looked like an old rock, changing colors as the water and sun played with him. A once mighty being that held power in his hands was being manipulated like a doll a girl would play with.

Arathell's gaze fell down to the King on the other side of Gandalf. He brooded in silence, avoiding looking at Saruman above him. She could hear the Men behind her holding their breath, but what they hoped to hear, she was unsure. Prior to coming, everyone seemed convinced that killing Saruman was the only possible course of action, but now with Saruman's deceptive charm, he likely appeared to the Men as a sheep, while she knew better than anyone that he was a wolf, simply biding his time.

"We shall have peace," Théoden finally answered. She held her breath now and her hand instinctively reached for Aragorn's, ignoring Saruman's potentially watchful eyes. "We shall have peace," he called again, louder and glaring out of the tops of his hooded eyes up at the coward before continuing, "when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there." She winced, thinking of Kara and her children, Haleth, and Théodred. "We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg are avenged!" His voice grew louder and louder, anger overtaking his body completely. "When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows," he growled, "we shall have peace."

Arathell released Aragorn's hand and looked up at Saruman, waiting with baited breath for his response. From the look on his face, she knew instantly how powerless he was. She had always denied him access to her mind with his pretty words, but never had a Man dared to fight back against him. "Gibbets and crows?" Saruman spat, "Dotard!" He fixed his features and clung tighter to his staff, hugging it close to his body as a shield. "What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame?" he asked in a measured drawl. "Let me guess: the Key of Orthanc, or perhaps the Keys of Barad-dûr itself, along with the crowns of the Seven Kings and the Rods of the Five Wizards?"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives," Gandalf replied calmly, but she could hear the distinct unease in his tone. She was confident that Gandalf truly had more than enough power to best Saruman, but it was still the sting of betrayal that had done this to her friend. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the Enemy's counsel," he pleaded.

"So you have come here for information," Saruman purred with a satisfied nod. No doubt, he understood Gandalf's reason for unease and thought to play yet another game of cat and mouse. "I have some for you." From nowhere, she saw a great sphere appear in his hand, dark with wisps of grey and a spark buried deep inside of it. Her eyes widened upon seeing it and she looked away. She always knew that Saruman had a palantir, but the objects were dangerous and they were not things to be trifled with, not even by someone like her. Now, with Sauron whispering words through them, they could only be used as weapons to destroy. "Something festers in the heart of Middle Earth," Saruman hissed, but she still did not look. "Something that you have failed to see," he continued, "But the Great Eye has seen it. Even now, he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You're all going to die." She looked over and saw that Gandalf had treaded carefully forward through the water. She swallowed and felt Merry sway nervously behind her, gripping her waist tightly. "But you know this, don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor? This exile crept from the shadows will never be crowned King. Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him – those he professes to love. Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the Halfling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have sent him on can only lead to death."

"I've heard enough!" Gimli growled. "Shoot him. Stick an arrow in his gob," he gestured to Legolas who slowly began to reach for an arrow.

"No!" Gandalf barked. "Come down, Saruman and your life will be spared!"

"Save your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!" A great ball of fire blew down towards them, landing directly on Gandalf and she hissed and pulled the reins back, hiding her eyes from the brightness.

When the smoke clearer, Gandalf sat comfortably still with a hardness in his shoulders that she had not seen before. "Saruman," he called with magic dripping from each syllable, "Your staff is broken." The earth shook momentarily and she saw shards of the black rod disperse through the air eagerly, free from the corruption that had been put upon it. "Your color has been thus stripped from you as you have abandoned your true purpose."

"True purpose?" Saruman scoffed. "What purpose has there ever been but to survive the desolation this land is blanketed with?" Arathell shook her head in dismissal and unfortunately, the bastard saw her. "Lady Arathell Duvainith…" he drawled. Aragorn made a move to get in front of her, but she rested her hand on his forearm, looking at the arm braces decorated with the White Tree. "Or are you referred to Shadow whilst gallivanting around as you are? I suppose you have finally thrown propriety out of the window completely… mating with this vagabond from the North. It is no better than you deserve."

"And yet here I am here to see you defeated!" she yelled back to him. "It is not me who has fallen out of the Dark Lord's favor! What hope can you have of survival once he understands how much you have failed him?"

"Arathell!" Gandalf barked and she snarled her mouth closed, looking away once more to Aragorn.

From behind the ragged old man that stood above them now, she saw a darker figure creep to the edge. His face was recognized easily by everyone present and she heard scoffs and grunts of disapproval. Only Théoden halted and called gently, "Grima, you need not follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a Man of Rohan! Come down."

Grima bowed slightly and began to back away. "A Man of Rohan?" Saruman scoffed. "What is the House of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and the brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory of Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."

She pursed her lips in contempt and looked anxiously still at Grima who was eyeing the old man warily. "Grima," Théoden breathed, "Come down. Be free of him."

"Free? He will never be free!" Saruman yelled back. Suddenly he turned around to look at the Man. "Get down, cur!" A loud slap was heard but she did not flinch.

"Saruman!" Gandalf snapped back, unbothered by the slap of abuse. "You were deep in the Enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know."

"You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom will be decided," Saruman parried simply. "I will not be held prisoner here." Grima appeared suddenly and she could see the glint of the dagger before it plunged into the back of the old man. Saruman gasped and froze still in Grima's arms but Grima was relentless. It was only until Legolas fired an arrow at him that a loud scream filled the air.

But the damage had been done and she watched, almost greedily as the once-Wizard fell from his tower. He was certainly dead, or at least he did not bother screaming at his untimely descent. With a loud smack, he was impaled on his own water wheel. Merry gasped in disgust behind her and she shifted the horse to shield his eyes somewhat.

"Send word to all our allies and to every corner of Middle Earth that still stands free: The Enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike." The Wizard's words barely registered with her as she looked straight ahead to the fresh corpse. Despite many of the changes her mind had undergone on this journey, she only felt a sick form of content to see his old back craned around the wheel, no more powerful than the wheel itself. It was gratifying in a purely selfish way, and she couldn't even find it in herself to care what the others thought of her tight smile.

Both of them – rat and snake, or perhaps it was snake and rat – were dead. The water wheel creaked and groaned before the weight pulled it down under the water. "The filth of Saruman is washing away," Treebeard remarked pleasantly. "Trees will come back to live here – young trees, wild trees."

"Pippin!" Aragorn yelled and she looked over to see the Hobbit running through the water. He paused and then stooped low, grabbing something.

When he revealed his treasure, she felt her eyes widen looking at the ball that looked grossly large in Pippin's hands. "Bless my bark!" she heard Treebeard say, but now her eyes were focused on the palantir, waiting for it to attack her in some way. She had never seen one before and she did not know all of its powers extensively.

"Peregrin Took," Gandalf said and held his hand out. "I'll take that, my lad."

Arathell watched with uneasy eyes as the palantir floated into the Wizard's hands and was buried deep in the folds of his robes. Only when he began moving away back toward the forest did she heave a sigh of relief. Aragorn pulled Pippin back onto Brego and they all began making their way away from Isengard and all of the treachery that had poured from it.

She wished that she could have stayed longer though. Meeting an Ent was a privilege that she had never had before and she had been so excited to finally see one and now she was expected to leave again.

Everyone began making their way towards the gates, but she paused and turned Hasufel around to march back up to Treebeard. "Thellie?" Merry asked behind her.

She ignored him but could not stop the smile on her face from hearing the nickname. She forgot how much she had missed it. "You are Treebeard?" she asked bluntly when she came back to the Ent.

He stared at her carefully and she debated for a moment if her gift would see into him. She decided against using it as his age was older than anything else on this earth and she was admittedly afraid of whatever it was that she would see in those impossible golden eyes. "I have heard of you, Little Shadow."

She grinned and even blushed. "I suppose I am little compared to you," she agreed.

"The little Shirelings spoke much about you," he said. "They tell me you find solace in trees."

Arathell nodded. "I am Elf-kind. It is my nature to love them."  
"And you watch these Hobbits, don't you?" he drawled and it struck her a moment later that he was teasing her. "They see you as their mother and protector." Arathell heartily blushed at this and she knew that Merry was just as embarrassed behind her. "You are the Ent to them and you shepherd them and help them grow."

"It means much to know your opinion of me," she finally replied.

"It is their opinion, not mine. I am not hasty in my opinions, Little Shadow." She licked her lip anxiously and felt the horse shuffle underneath her. "Nevertheless," he boomed, "I am quite happy to meet you at last. Now, away with you. There is much to do and I gather that you are needed."

Arathell chuckled a little at that and swung the horse around and began moving away, just as she saw Legolas and Gimli approach him. Despite his harsh words towards trees in the forest, it seemed that now in the presence of the Ent, Gimli may have been beginning to relent about his prior opinion. He looked as still as a statue perched on Arod's back while Legolas no doubt begged for permission to walk through Fangorn at the end of their journey when peace was more bountiful.

Knowing that the oldest creature in the world had paid his respects to her and was happy to meet her was one of the most wonderful things anyone had ever told her before in her life.

They moved quickly through the water, eager to catch up with the others. Another Ent was at the entrance where their company had originally walked in. His name was Quickbeam and the Hobbits talked rapidly with him as they gathered all of their things and put them in their packs for the upcoming journey. Arathell stayed quiet for this meeting, knowing that this Ent must have been rather young, despite the same wise look he bore in his eyes.

Her own eyes swiveled to finally land on Aragorn. He was looking down at his hands, most likely at the Ring of Barahir. Only then did she recall the words that Saruman had said about him. Arathell was unsure how to comfort Aragorn in this matter, but she knew that he must have been wondering if there was any truth to the things that were said. With Merry and Pippin back on the horses, they began to move away from Isengard altogether, hopefully to never return. Once had been enough to sate her for the rest of time. "Come along, King," she called back to Aragorn, hoping that the word would in some way spark his fire once more and would give him the strength that he needed.

* * *

 **Again, I am sorry that there isn't a whole lot of romance in this chapter, but more will definitely be on the way in the next. We have to keep in mind that there is a serious apocalypse plot going on and we gotta keep moving. I promise there is some in the next chapter!**

 **Check out the music, and let's get to 600 reviews! 26 more!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	64. Chapter 64

**Hello, lovelies! Thanks for the wonderful response! We went from being only 26 reviews away from number 600 to now being only TWELVE away. I've gotten fourteen reviews since Sunday – not all from this last chapter, but there you go. So we should totally be able to get to 600 this time! Please have your PM's on if intend to be number 600 and get a one-shot! Remember, I don't write smut, and it has to be within this fandom. Also, if you've already won a one-shot, you cannot win another. We have to give everyone a fair shot. :D**

 **And yay, we get some more romance in today's chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Lost Stars - Adam Levine

"Who are we? Just a speck of dust within the galaxy?  
Woe is me, if we're not careful turns into reality  
Don't you dare let our best memories bring you sorrow  
Yesterday I saw a lion kiss a deer  
Turn the page maybe we'll find a brand new ending  
Where we're dancing in our tears and..."

* * *

They moved at a great speed back to Edoras, knowing that the people at Helm's Deep had already been moved back to their hometown. The night was quiet except for some loud swooshes that paraded across the sky every now and again. They reminded her of the great bird-like creature they had seen on the river – the one that Legolas had killed. Her eyes focused on Gandalf after the fourth swoosh and saw that he was becoming increasingly bothered by the noise as well, but he did not seem prepared to do anything.

When the moonlight bounced off of a glinting gold on the top of a hill, she felt everyone heave sighs of relief. They were all home, but to Arathell, she was finally getting a moment to simply breathe peacefully.

Merry and Pippin had been quite chatty throughout the ride, despite being separated every now and again due to the varying speeds at which Hasufel and Brego were galloping. But all of the horses were suitably exhausted and at the sight of their home, they moved more calmly, but slightly quicker, knowing that a warm stable was waiting for each of them.

The gates were already open when they approached and members of their company began breaking away towards their houses and stables while she and others continued climbing up the hill.

Once they reached the stable, she fell to the side of the horse with wobbly legs. Her body was tired and had seen enough movement to last her a Man's lifetime. Going from a battle, healing the dying, being healed herself, and then riding to Isengard to see Saruman take his final plunge and then to Edoras had been more than enough activity. She could only imagine how the others faired.

Merry and Pippin had fallen asleep sometime on the venture, allowing Merry to come into her arms easily. He was still sleepy and allowed Éomer to take him and Pippin into the house to find good lodgings for them.

Arathell laughed a little at the sight and patted Hasufel absentmindedly. Her eyes soon traversed across the stables until she found Aragorn brushing down Brego lovingly. She allowed him the moment and paid Hasufel kindly for his assistance with some brushing of his own as well as some carrots. She scratched his forehead tenderly and patted his neck before moving to Aragorn.

"You have been brushing his neck for nearly thirty minutes, Aragorn," she remarked.

He jumped at her presence and then moved to brush the horse's flank His surprise and jump made her anxious – a Ranger would know of her coming to stand with him. To know that his thoughts were so occupied that he could not even tell when she was near was disheartening for her, and she feared for his thoughts then. "I am tired is all," he explained.

Arathell felt the corner of her lip pull upwards in distaste. She walked to the other side of him and dropped her hand over his. He sighed and looked down to the ground. "You are thinking about what Saruman said," she stated. She had seen how heavy his head was all the way to Edoras and before it had been lighter and his eyes had sparkled with victory. "You think that he may be correct in his statement, don't you?" she drawled, stroking the back of his hand. "You doubt yourself."

Aragorn sighed again and turned toward her more. "I am nothing but a Ranger."

Her hand reached to his face, stroking his soft beard that was slightly matted with sweat from the long journey. "You have never been only a Ranger, Aragorn. You are the Chief of your people, and you are an adopted son of the House of Elrond." She smiled and pushed her forehead onto his. "And you own a shadow's heart."

"I thought you would never be owned," he murmured, nudging her nose delicately with his.

"If I ever could be, it would be you who would own me. It is my heart though and I say who it belongs to. I am giving it to you, you know. No one will ever hold it like you do." He sighed and she saw him bite his lip. His doubt clearly would not so easily be deterred. "What does Saruman know?" she asked. "Rather what _did_ he know? He thought he knew that the world of Men would fall, starting with Helm's Deep. But you knew he was wrong. You knew that it would take more than a piece of filth like him to tear down this world. He has been wrong about many things."

"And you believe he is wrong about me?" he mumbled, suddenly looking into her eyes, fearful.

She snorted playfully. "It takes a mighty Man to hold my heart. I would not give it away to someone who I did not think could handle it." She smirked and saw him mirror it a little. "Being a King is nothing compared to being with me," she teased further. "I am a difficult…woman…to love."

His eyes were shining and she saw them darken at the word. Now they both knew of her intentions to forsake her grace. He would be foolish to think that she wasn't doing it for him. But she would not do so now in the stables of Rohan, both exhausted.

Aragorn's lips sought hers out and she shivered instantly at the touch. It seemed that every kiss they had shared was different from all of their previous ones, and this one was no exception. She felt him in his entirety against her, hands running over her back before one hand fell on her hip while the other slid past her cheek to clench itself in her hair. Her own hand were desperately seeking purchase, trying to grab anything. Her senses felt as though they were being assaulted and she could only barely hold on. He did not hold her against anything but himself, making her want more. She could not hold herself close enough to his warmth but she felt as if they were the only two things in existence at that moment.

Her lips were burning from his insistence and his beard scratched at everything. Her tongue had long lost the battle and was being thoroughly taught that she was not in power here. Everywhere in her world, she had sought control and his blatant disregard for it made her knees shake.

Arathell couldn't breathe but loathed the idea of pulling away from him. She felt her face heat more and more with the need to burst, becoming aggressive with his tongue, biting at it and sucking his lip into her mouth to tear at it. She was the one to pull away then. Everything was dark and her eyes were seeing spots from lack of air. She knew she was panting, but before she could concentrate on anything, she felt his lips latch onto her throat.

The moan flew from her lips before she had a moment to think and all other chances of sane thought were thrown to the wind. Her hand finally held tight to his shoulder while the other hung limply at her side. The wall of the stable was behind her now, giving Aragorn more to work with. He was merciless and clamped down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Aragorn!" she gasped, her other hand finding its way into his hair to push him closer to her.

Everything was burning and the sucking noises on her skin were burning her.

The loud clop of Brego's hoof landing hard of the ground snapped her back to reality. He seemed to notice as well and froze, sighing against her freshly mauled skin. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his nose nuzzling her clavicle affectionately. The sudden change in behavior nearly made her laugh, but she noticed herself guilty of it just as quickly. Her hand was combing gently through his hair and she had rested her cheek on top of his head. "You are going to be the King of Gondor," she murmured, still slightly out of breath. His arms tightened around her. "You will sit on that throne and you will show the world the Man I already know you are." She smiled and retracted herself from him, reaching down to the ground to pick up Brego's brush that he had dropped to the ground amidst their moment. She went to the horse herself and brushed him down the rest of the way calmly. "And if anyone tells you differently, I will kill them myself," she added vindictively.

His arms wound themselves around her waist and he pressed a tight kiss to her shoulder. "What would I do without you?" he asked, watching her clean his horse. Brego didn't seem bothered that another other than his rider was washing him down, but she was convinced that Brego was intelligent to know her relationship with Aragorn. He would trust her by association. Briefly, she wondered if Faerdhinen would treat Aragorn with the same respect. Her mare didn't even fully respect her own brothers.

"Probably what I would do without you," she answered.

"That isn't very well at all, is it?" he teased into her ear.

Arathell smiled and turned in his embrace. She patted his cheek with her free hand until she moved from him completely to put away Brego's brush, reaching for some carrots. "Not very well indeed," she replied just as teasingly and with a sly smile for him.

He took the carrots from her and walked to Brego's front, passing the horse a carrot, but he still stared at her. "Thank you, Arathell."

She nodded her head a little and sighed dramatically. "Finish feeding him and then we can go inside."

"I heard that Meduseld would house everyone," he mentioned. "There are some that do not have homes because of all that has happened. Théoden is allowing them to stay here. Tomorrow evening, there is meant to be a great banquet for everyone who fought and died."

"He certainly does not waste any time." She arched an eyebrow and saw him shrug. "Well, if we are going to battle one another for places to sleep, I would like to go inside sooner rather than later. Unless, of course, you wish to be separated from me?"

He rolled his eyes and gave Brego the final carrot before approaching her and taking her hand. "Never again," he replied before pulling her in the direction of the great house after grabbing their bedrolls.

Concurrent with her expectations, there had to have been hundreds roaming around the Golden Hall, all fleeting to and fro with unkempt bedrolls in their hands, vying for a place to settle down for the evening. She sighed and squeezed her own roll closer to her side and allowed Aragorn to pull her through the masses. She felt others occasionally stare at her, but for the most part, she believed that they all were too busy with their own dilemmas to be paying her and Aragorn much attention.

By some miracle, Aragorn had found them a place in one of the longer halls. She grinned, remembering that it was here that Aragorn had confronted her about her mixed feelings towards him. "Feeling a bout of nostalgia?" she teased as he began to lay his roll out.

Even with his back turned to her, she could practically _hear_ his eyes roll. "Not for that particular conversation," he disagreed.

She shook her head with a small smile and unfurled her roll beside his. People around them were beginning to settle down and she noticed that in a far corner, the four Elves were staring at the hordes of Men with curious faces, all except Gorthion who had already turned to face the wall and was presumably asleep. "Do you know who is keeping watch tonight?" she asked in a whisper when silence began to cover their hall.

Aragorn was already lying down and reached to give her arm a tug for her to join him. "I overheard that Gandalf and Gimli were considering it," he replied as she settled into the roll. She rolled towards him, close enough to feel his breath skate across her cheek in a warm caress. "I think Gandalf is concerned with who handles the palantir. Apparently Pippin was caught looking after Gandalf often on the ride here."

She nodded and snuggled deeper in the roll and let her eyes fall closed. "Do you think he will do anything?"

"He has always had a talent for doing things he shouldn't be," he mentioned.

She quirked the corner of her lip into a smile. "That is true." She sighed heavily. "But I believe that he will learn in time. And Hobbits have been said to be incredibly resilient creatures. Bilbo handled the Ring, as Frodo is now doing. And Sam has one of the stoutest hearts I know. Even if he is foolhardy and too playful, I think that Pippin will be able to overcome whatever call the palantir is sending to him."

Arathell felt his forehead push against hers but she did not open her eyes, only lifting her face a little to brush his nose with hers. She could feel his eyes on her, intense and no doubt with a glimmer. Her eyes slowly opened, meeting his gaze and she found herself falling deep into their depths. They did not say anything to one another, but she felt that there really was no need for words. Sure enough, there was a spark in his grey eyes and she was captivated by it. How many pairs of grey eyes had she seen in her lifetime? Why were his so different and alluring? She stared deeper and nearly huffed when the answer came to her. His eyes were like water, but not blue. They were strong and powerful, but the calling was different. That spark she saw was like the sun, playing on the tumultuous waves. She had never been, but she knew without a doubt that it was what the Grey Havens looked like. They were bright with the promise of something greater, but with just enough darkness to give her a thrill of adventure. He was her Valinor; he was her ship to bear her troubled thoughts away.

She smiled at the thought and saw the depths of his eyes change, determined to show her something she already knew. She felt his love for her moving through her veins and it made her sigh in content. Arathell returned the stare easily and saw him grin up to his wonderful eyes.

* * *

 **March 9, 3019 – Edoras**

When her eyes creaked open, she realized quickly that she was alone, or rather, Aragorn had already woken and left her.

She sat up, eyes still caked in drowsiness and took in her surroundings. There were still some who were asleep, and she suddenly marveled that the snores of Men had not kept her awake throughout the night. Only Amdir was still asleep out of the four Elves, though Brastor was sitting with his back against the wall, monitoring the room, being the protective older brother.

Arathell swept her hair to one side and stood, leaving her bedroll. She walked to the Elf and nodded in greeting and gestured to Amdir. "You watch him as though he was an infant," she commented.

Brastor blinked. "I do not trust Men."

She snorted ungracefully and saw him raise an eyebrow. "What have you heard about them that prevents you from abandoning your brother in his sleep?" Brastor remained silent. "Are you thinking of the mortal desires Men possess?" His jaw stiffened and she laughed. "These Men are home, mellon nin," she soothed. "If they intend to relieve themselves of whatever mortal ache they have, I can assure you they would do so with their wives so as not to raise suspicion."

"Some no longer have wives," he retorted.

"So why should they be thinking of those desires at all?" she retorted. "Men feel grief too." Brastor huffed while Arathell smirked. "Come. The King intends to have a celebration tonight and most likely will need help preparing for it."

"Is that where Aragorn has gone?" Brastor mused before slowly rising to his feet. He looked at his brother with concern but followed her out of the chamber anyway.

"I assume," she agreed.

* * *

Preparing had surprisingly not been as difficult as she had expected. Parties amongst Elves were gentle, yet thorough and filled with plans that were executed to perfection. Men apparently had different tactics, or at least the Men of Rohan did. They spent little to no time brightening up the place and focused solely on the cooking and baking of various foods and assembling every cask of alcohol that could be mustered within a five mile radius.

Needless to say, the preparing was out of anyone's hands but the cooks and the drunks, of which she was neither. So she watched on with a comical face for a while as Men heaved the heavy barrels of ale, each with excitement burning through their eyes and through their hearts, and this was something she did not need her gift for.

After a while with Brastor and a freshly awakened Amdir, she left them to their devices. Apparently Lagordir had meandered his way to the kitchens and was watching the cooks with wonder; their speed in the culinary arts amazed him, she was told. Gorthion was missing, but that did not surprise her. Nothing about that wretched being could shock her, she feared. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised at all if someone even told he had been found eating children with some assorted greens, the bastard.

So, she left the Elves to find her little Hobbits, both of them bubbling happily with the excitement of a party. Hobbits were excessive partiers, they told her. And she laughed harder when Merry said seriously that he and Pippin would show these warriors what real drinking was like. Pippin had hastily added that the Men would obviously also be interested in learning how to smoke properly.

They relayed to her their adventures after some probing, at which they sobered up almost immediately. When they asked of Boromir, even she was forced to swallow the bile away and blink the tears from her eyes. They did not ask for more information. Whether they didn't because of the tattered relationship she had had with Boromir or because of their own sentiments regarding the warrior of Gondor, she was grateful all the same.

But they carried on regardless, telling how the Uruks had nearly eaten them out of hunger for something other than "maggoty bread." Their voices grew when they said how the Men of Rohan had come to their rescue, but Merry had been quick to say that all they had provided was a distraction so that he and Pippin could escape into the forest. An Orc had followed them, as she and the others had predicted, but Treebeard had gotten rid of him almost instantly upon encountering them. Arathell had never felt so thankful for the Ents before in her life. The Hobbits talked about how they had gone through many parts of the forest and climbed along many cliffs, but when they spoke of Treebeard's home, they both sighed. She could see it in their eyes that they had been fond of the place. Pippin said excitedly that evidently, Ents do not sleep lying down and he and Merry had gotten the whole bed to themselves. Neither could explain why an Ent would therefore have a bed, but that didn't seem to bother them.

They talked briefly about the meeting the Ents had – the Entmoot – but Merry quickly grew troubled, explaining that perhaps much would have been different if the Ents had acted against Saruman sooner. At this point, Pippin was eager to tell her about the other Ent they had encountered, named Quickbeam. He was the youngest out of all of the Ents and already made his mind up, so he spent some time entertaining them.

The Hobbits recited to her rather long songs the Ents had sung, and she was impressed that they had remembered the words so well. Some parts were left unaccounted for, as they both were asleep for some of the singing, but they each assured her that the voice of an Ent was very harmonious and that it was difficult indeed to stay awake when such wondrous voices filled their little ears.

They both were ecstatic to speak about the battle at Isengard. Treebeard had apparently wanted to keep them away from the fighting, but Merry would have no part in that and Pippin followed Merry wherever he went so that was that. When the dam broke, Pippin explained that he worried the current would push them down into the caverns of Isengard, but Treebeard was stronger than any stone and would not be moved by the river. Other Ents had even used the water as a means to silence the fires that the remaining Uruks had thrown upon them.

Then Merry spoke extensively of the storeroom of Saruman and brandished a small tobacco pouch, patting it affectionately and with pride. "Saruman always hated others smoking," Arathell commented, brows furrowed.

Pippin shrugged. "Apparently he was not as virtuous as he made himself seem."

"It would not be the first time, after all," Merry added easily.

She had smiled and then regaled a tale of her own. When she finally broached the subject of her and Aragorn and what they had become, Pippin patted her hand softly. "Thellie, we already know."

"Know what?"

"You love Strider," Pippin answered happily.

"And Strider has been in love with you this entire time; didn't you know?" Merry teased.

Arathell huffed. "It would seem that I was the only one who didn't."

"Even Boromir knew that he loved you!" Pippin added.

"I don't think you're helping, Pip."

"Oh, right." Pippin shuffled uncomfortably for a moment. "But at least you have each other now. It almost sounded as though you lost each other. That would have been awful."

Arathell nodded in agreement, still unable to properly understand that everyone had known of Aragorn's love long before she had. Furthermore, she began to wonder how it was that Aragorn had successfully hid it for so long. With her gift, it shouldn't have been possible and she should have seen it right away. They had interacted with one another before the Ring had come into their lives so she couldn't exactly use that for an excuse.

She sighed and settled that she would have to speak to him later about it.

* * *

 **So, this was perhaps a slightly filler chapter, but at least it is all original, right? I apologize for the short length, but I am beginning to feel all scared for this story to be over. Haha can't blame me for wanting to stretch it out as long as possible, right? Plus, it gives me more time to work on Kara's story which, in case any of you are wondering, is coming along nicely.** _RainbowBright333_ **has been giving me much encouragement and even some ideas to play with already. But BDS is still my baby, and I don't want to say goodbye.**

 **This chapter did have some romance in it though, as I promised last chapter. I know we've been missing it, so there it is! And, if I know my story at all, there is a smidge or two of it in the next chapter as well. :D Yay!**

 **Now, let's get to 600! Twelve more! Yes, I will be seriously bummed out if we don't get there this chapter. I believe in you guys! PM's on and someone get ready to win a one-shot.**

 **Check out the music! I couldn't decide which segment of the lyrics to put in, so please give it a listen! There is a more acoustic sounding version and then a more poppy version. I'm pretty sure that the acoustic one is the more favored, certainly by me at least. But give this one a listen - if for nothing else than to just find a new song that you really like. I think it's incredibly beautiful.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	65. Chapter 65

**Alright, Happy Labor Day Weekend, my fellow Americans! Hope everyone is enjoying their day off! I know I certainly am.**

 **Not gonna lie – teeny tiny bit sad that we didn't quite hit 600 that last chapter, but I am not worried. I daresay that this will be that chapter, and if it is not, then yes, I will feel quite sorry for myself haha. No pressure! :P (Seriously though, no worries. I don't write this for reviews – I write this for the people who would want to read it… still love reviews though ;))**

 **Back to some noticeable plot today, which is exciting! Plus some more Aras! Hooray! Let's get to 600 so someone can win a one-shot!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Waters Rising - Alter Bridge

"Now all of the fields are burning it blocks out the sun  
I see all the water rising to drown everyone  
This is tomorrow's way to end our days  
Watch as the clouds they gather now to wash us away"

* * *

That evening, the Golden Hall of Meduseld was filled to the brim with warmth and everywhere she looked, she saw smiles on people's faces. It gave her comfort to know that even with Sauron pressing his advantage, as Saruman had so fittingly put it, there was still joy to be found.

Théoden stood from his throne soon and the room fell silent. The smiles fell from their faces as they moved through the crowd to find their seats, each holding a mug of beer in their hands. Arathell had personally found herself some wine.

She sat beside Aragorn and they traded a soft look, both acknowledging the world that was to come for them sooner or later. There was peace tonight, but they both knew that this was far from over.

Arathell's attention soon went to the White Lady of Rohan, donned in a periwinkle blue tonight and holding an intricately styled goblet. She walked with a proud smile to the King, bowing for him to take it from her hands. She moved away from him, coming to stand on his right side with the pride only growing as she looked at her people. Éomer, was perched on the other side of his uncle, head held high and chest puffed out, like a statue of old.

When Théoden held the goblet out in a toast, everyone stood to hear the solemn words. "Tonight, we honor those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!"

"Hail!" Everyone around her shouted, raising their mugs to their parched lips. Arathell slowly drank down some of her wine.

People began moving around the chamber then, eager to be cheered up, or eager to drown their sorrows in their mugs. She could blame neither.

Arathell stayed close to Aragorn that night and she noticed that the Elves had banded together while Gorthion was fiercely gulping down anything alcoholic he could find. Legolas and Gimli seemed to be in the midst of drinking game and she was only able to roll her eyes at that. Both were still young for their races and she was sure that the thought of a contest was great fun to them both.

She supposed that she could have joined them, but at the sight of all of the drunkards surrounding them both, she had refrained. Still, she stared on at the two of them, seeing their piles of empty mugs growing by the minute, and she laughed heartily when she at last saw Gimli collapse backward. Legolas had barely begun to look even the slightest bit intoxicated in the meantime. He probably had left out the very respectable fact that Elves were not known for getting inebriated over Men's alcohol, so perhaps the win was not entirely earned.

"I wish you would laugh more," Aragorn mentioned from beside her, looking at her softly. Their hands were naturally clasped together as they often were these days. She had been separated from him for all of her life and with the limited time they had to be together, she was determined to make the most of it.

She rolled her eyes at him and was about to respond when Éowyn approached them both. Arathell stiffened a little and felt Aragorn extract his hand from hers to take the proffered goblet. His sip was quick and he returned it to her without a thought. Arathell was even more shocked however, when the girl held the goblet out for her to take.

She met Éowyn's blue eyes carefully, looking for a hint of trickery. She did not expect there to be any, as she and Éowyn had an understanding as far as Aragorn was concerned and Arathell had even began to think that there could even be the possibility of a friendship. Slowly, Arathell accepted the goblet and briefly glanced at Aragorn before placing her lips around the very spot Aragorn had placed his. Yes, she knew that she was being territorial and even a little childish, but somehow, she still could not help herself.

Éowyn blushed a little at the display but still smiled brightly, taking the goblet back and walking on through the crowds toward Legolas.

"You are beginning to scare her, I think," he remarked.

"First you tell me that I do not laugh enough and now you say that I am scaring her," she retorted. "Is there anything that I can do right?" she teased, flashing him a smile so that he would not misunderstand her words.

"She knows very well that I am with you; you need not rub it in."

She smirked and took his hand again. "Perhaps I like reminding myself of it."

He turned toward her a little with that promise of a hurricane in his stormy eyes. "Well, aren't you devious?"

"Hush," she muttered and brushed a piece of hair from her face.

Aragorn laughed but still took a small piece of her hair in his fingers, twirling the strand. It was so thrillingly simple that she could not help but smile. "What are you thinking of?" he asked gently.

"If this was to be what the rest of my life was like, I think I would be very happy," she replied.

"Someday," he agreed.

She saw the love dancing in his eyes and she narrowed her own. "How did you hide it away from me for so long?" she asked. He cocked his head to the side in question. "Everyone has told me now that you have loved me for your whole life essentially and only now can I see it. Before Frodo came to Rivendell with… well, I should have been able to see how you felt for me. We were rather close friends."

"How often did you actively look into my mind?" he questioned.

"Enough to feel confused," she diplomatically answered, jutting her chin out a little.

He bumped his forehead on hers before pulling away. "Before we began sparring one another, I still considered myself too young for you to look at me in the way that I wished. And further still, I was… well, I suppose one could say that I didn't quite trust myself to keep it a secret from you verbally. Every time I was around you, I felt… it was indescribable. I knew you would see if I didn't say it, so I avoided you. I went to the North to be with the Dúnedain and I trained myself in all of the ways I knew how to. When I came back and when we became friends… it became clear to me that I had repressed those feelings just enough so that you would not see, not if you were only looking on the surface, and I hoped that that was all you would ever do where I was concerned. If you had ever tried to look deeper, I would have been discovered surely. Then again, Kara had found a book that helped. She gave it to me once for a birthday present."

Arathell wasn't sure what to make of his story, but seeing as she did not have an explanation of her own to offer, she settled on his being enough. "Does my father know how you feel?"

Aragorn grinned crookedly at her. "He was one of the first to know."

She chuckled. "What did he have to say?"

His face softened, but she saw the confidence lurking behind his eyes. "He said that he had already seen it."

Their attention was very quickly turned when they heard two bright voices over the nearly deafening chants of Men. She looked over Aragorn's shoulder to see Merry and Pippin erected on one of the dining tables, dancing happily with their bare feet likely mushing themselves into the food, but they were both too happy to notice.

They made their way over to them, hearing them pause for a moment and Pippin was looking curiously at Gandalf before Merry called his attention back for them to finish the song.

They sidled up to Gandalf who had been smiling happily at the antics of the young Hobbits. "No news of Frodo?" Aragorn asked beside her and she nearly sighed with displeasure that they needed to speak of such things now when these happy moments were so few.

"No word," Gandalf replied, the smile so far gone from his face, she would never have known he was smiling to begin with. "Nothing."

"We have time," Aragorn soothed quietly. "Every day Frodo moves closer to Mordor."

Arathell stayed stubbornly quiet.

"Do we know that?" the Wizard asked imploringly, turning his body to Aragorn and clearly looking for reassurance. It was only then that she realized that perhaps Saruman's words had been just as poisonous to her older friend as they had been to her lover. Even with Saruman's staff broken and his color stripped of him, his words had not lost their potency and had caused hurt in those she loved most. A part of her wanted to ride back to Orthanc at that moment and stab the man herself for the sheer pleasure of it.

"What does your heart tell you?" she heard Aragorn asked. Her eyes fell on him as she registered the question. Vainly, she tried to seek Frodo's mind out amongst the corners of the world, looking for any sign of him or of her blessed Sam. Her mind drew a blank, but she knew that it was the Ring that shrouded her sight. So she focused instead on her instinct, something she never heavily relied on. It did not know what to think and did not like being asked the question.

"That Frodo is alive," Gandalf softly answered. "Yes, yes, he's alive," he agreed with a sigh, sated, though her own mind was now more tormented than ever. Given both of their states though, she locked the uneasy feeling deep away in her mind and only prayed that Gandalf's instinct was correct.

"Have you looked into the palantir?" she asked quietly. Gandalf looked at her warily and she waved a hand away dismissively. "I do not ask to look into it myself and I am not drawn to its power, Mithrandir, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for thinking of me so." Both men beside her chuckled. "I only ask because if Sauron had the… if he had it, then he would brandish his toy through his palantir. At the time, he thinks that Saruman is still in possession and he would be quick to show Saruman his place. Even further, he knows not where all of the palantir are and would showcase his strength through it to destroy the hopes of those watching. Have you looked into the palantir, Gandalf?"

He shuffled nervously. "I will not look into it," he stated at last. "It corrupted the mind of one of the Istari, and I will not chance being corrupted myself."

"I will," Aragorn volunteered.

"No, you must remain secret," Gandalf argued.

"Saruman knew of me already. How do we not know that he has not already said so to Sauron?"

"Because Saruman was cunning," she retorted. "He may have been Sauron's puppet, but I firmly believe that his intention from the beginning was to claim _it_ for his own. He needed whatever advantage he could possibly get. Allying himself with Sauron only bought him protection while he searched. Why else would he tell the Uruks to keep Merry and Pippin alive and bring them back to Isengard?" She looked at Gandalf. "He knew that a Halfling had what he wanted."

The men nodded. "He would not know it was Elessar looking into it," Aragorn tried again.

She smiled and reached to cup his cheek. "Love, your eyes would betray you."

"I hid my secret from you."

"I am not Sauron and I am not actively searching for anything that could cause my demise," she reminded. "If you put hiding things from me as being harder than hiding things from Sauron, I would feel quite honored, and maybe a tad more arrogant than I already am."

Aragorn sighed in defeat but kissed her palm before taking it in his hand. He looked back at Gandalf who was staring at Pippin. "You need rest tonight," Aragorn addressed him but the Wizard only hummed in response, not looking over. "Gandalf," he tried again, finally earning the Wizard's attention. "You will rest tonight. Arathell and I will keep watch."

"It is not the outside that worries me," he muttered, looking back at Pippin, tracking his every move. He clearly did not carry the palantir with him now and she supposed he wanted to ensure that the Hobbit would stay away from the device.

"We will protect from all sides, my friend," Arathell soothed. "I am sure that Legolas would love to assist, wouldn't you?" she asked when the Elf approached. "By the Valar, are you drunk?" she demanded. He stood beside her, but she saw his body swaying from side to side as he tried to maintain his balance. He hiccoughed next to her and gave her a sheepish smile. "It is only beer, you light-weighted buffoon! And it is Men's beer besides! Even the Hobbits aren't drunk!"

"You are most welcome to try, Arathell," Legolas murmured, looking at his outstretched hand. "It's only a little tingle." He stared at it further before she gave him a light slap on the face. "I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes, but the other two laughed and when Legolas took a chair from one of the younger boys, even she couldn't stop herself from having a laugh.

* * *

When evening came and with everyone drunkenly stumbled their way to their cots, or what they even supposed were their cots, Arathell finally left Aragorn's side to immediately take the outside watch. It had already been agreed that Aragorn would remain in the chamber with Pippin and Gandalf until he was sure that the young Hobbit was asleep and out and away from the alluring tendrils of curiosity.

Legolas was already with her – the alcohol's affects had long since left him, and he seemed to be as alert as ever. He made her nervous though. While she had taken to practically pacing the perimeters of the Golden Hall, Legolas remained still like a statue. He faced the East, eyes hardened out in the distance to some point that only he knew of at the moment.

Obviously, she did not expect there to be any invasion tonight. Saruman was destroyed and they would have heard word long before had there been any sort of army making their move toward the country. No, she suspected that for the meantime, Rohan was the safest place in all of the Middle Earth. All eyes were falling on Gondor. In her darkest thoughts, she knew that the slaughter that had happened at Helm's Deep would be nothing compared to the hammer stroke that would fall upon the Men of Númenor. They were free still, and if the Enemy had told them anything, it was that freedom under any pretenses would not be permitted.

Arathell still could not find it within herself to hope for their victory. Saruman had amassed an army of ten thousand in a matter of months. Sauron had been the Lord of Mordor for years. The numbers he had would probably outlast all of the free races put together. This was all a game to him now, and she and everyone she cared about were merely pieces on the board. It did not matter what move they made, there would always be another that Sauron was prepared to launch.

She sighed, dismissing the dismal thoughts for now. For now, Rohan was safe and the people she cared about were still alive. And she had made a vow to herself that she would spend however many days she had left with those people and ensure that she would be there for them when the time came for them all to die.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw three of the four Elves walking calmly around the perimeter as well. Lagordir had merely nodded to her when they made eye contact. Amdir had smiled and Brastor hadn't bothered to acknowledge that he saw her at all.

"Stop pacing," Legolas snapped at her, pulling her further away from the darkness in her mind. "It is making me nervous."

Arathell couldn't help but smirk, thinking how it had been his calm, collected mask that had set her on edge in the first place. "What are you looking at?" she finally asked, coming to his side.

"Mordor," he answered simply, not casting even a glance in her direction.

Her gaze followed his and she stared at the growing clouds in the distance. Mordor did indeed lie that way, but Gondor did as well – specifically the White City. Her eyes tried desperately to pierce that final veil to see what happened in the reclusive country. She had not heard much from them other than what Boromir had told her during the journey, and through most of it, they hadn't always gotten along. And through the times that they did, it wasn't politics and war that they often discussed.

Aragorn joined their side then and she turned her head to meet his gaze. He looked solemn, or rather he tried to hide that he looked solemn. He nodded at her silent question regardless of Pippin's slumber.

"The stars are veiled," Legolas purred beside her. His voice was different now, held by some form of enchantment he had placed over himself. His eyes were burning into the East and for a moment, she was reminded of the far-away looks her grandmother would possess when captivated by distant wonders. "Something stirs in the East," he continued, his eyes flickering for the briefest of moments to Aragorn at his side. "A sleepless malice. The Eye of the Enemy is moving."

Arathell felt her eyes close on their own volition. Behind her eyelids, she felt as though she saw everything she couldn't with her eyes open. She could feel Legolas' words thrumming through her, sure and steady despite the seriousness and fear that should have come with them.

"He is here," Legolas suddenly expelled, and her eyes snapped open as her gift was nearly blinded by the power of the mind she was trying to look into.

"Pippin," she exclaimed, though she was sure that it did not need saying.

All three moved hurriedly back into the house, never pausing. She felt as she had when she had first encountered the Ring, but she could not stop moving; this was certain. She felt her mind being strangled, everything in her mind going completely dark as it tried to focus solely on surviving and bearing its way through the storm.

When they burst through the chamber, she could vaguely hear Merry's cries for help, but the effect of the palantir was stifling. There was a fiery light that was entering her vision, darkened for the smallest of moments. She saw the cursed ball flow into Aragorn's hands, and that was when she felt at her worst. But she grinded her teeth and pushed Legolas aside, her arms falling around Aragorn. The pain was excruciating, feeling Sauron's laugh enter her mind and making her gasp, but she held tight to Aragorn, desperate to help him with the burden.

They both fell to the floor and she knew instantly that he had let go of the palantir. Breathing was still impossible, her lungs on the verge of collapsing, but suddenly her vision cleared and she could hear herself taking raspy gasps.

Her arms were still wrapped around Aragorn, and she noticed that he was holding her just as tightly, both regaining control over themselves.

"Fool of a Took!" she heard Gandalf yell, her heartbeat pounding in her ears and making even his powerful voice seem muffled.

Aragorn held her up and they both shakily looked over to said Took. He wasn't moving and now her lack of breathing was for an entirely different reason.

Gandalf had clambered over to him, hand on his forehead and muttering in a tongue that she could barely hear, but she knew it to be Quenya. Suddenly, Pippin was breathing again, shallow and fearful breaths but at least he was breathing.

She heaved a sigh of relief, trying to get her heart to slow even minutely. Aragorn's hand was wrapped tight to hers and she noticed that his knuckles were as white as her own as they held tight to one another. "Look at me," Gandalf ordered quietly.

"Gandalf, forgive me," Pippin wept quietly. She saw how he was drenched in his own sweat, terrified. His eyes closed, trying to relieve himself of the horror that he just witnessed.

"Look at me," Gandalf ordered again, harsher and more demanding. "What did you see?"

Her eyes fell on the Wizard, wondering how he could be so calm about this. "A tree," Pippin whispered. "There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. It was dead." Her breath caught in her throat and now her gaze fell on her lover who had stiffened to the point where he could have been made of stone. "The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith?" Gandalf whispered. "Is that what you saw?"

"I saw… I saw… I saw him!" Pippin gasped, the fear returning to his eyes, but she dared not move to his side, feeling Aragorn's grip nearly cracking all of the bones in her hand. "I could hear his voice in my head!"

Her heart fell for the little Hobbit, wondering how he was even alive at all. Hearing a voice like Sauron's for even a fraction of a second while Aragorn held the palantir was more than enough to ruin her. But the Hobbit had endured and she found herself grinning just a little at the strength of her small friend. "What did he tell you? Speak!"

Pippin gasped but stuttered on, "He asked me my name. I didn't answer. He hurt me."

"What did you tell him of Frodo and the Ring?"

Now she knew she was gripping Aragorn's hand just as tightly. "Nothing!" he gasped. Gandalf gave him an angry shake, not satisfied. "I promise! I didn't tell him anything!"

Arathell shakily forced her gift to pick up its tattered pieces to look into Pippin's mind. It hurt almost to the point it was unbearable. Her mind had been abused once more and now fought to do anything but keep her alive. Nevertheless, she prodded the Hobbit's mind gently, knowing that he would not sense her presence there anyway. "He is telling the truth," she murmured, barely hearing her own voice. She could feel a ringing in her ears and everything felt cold, tingling with the overuse. She couldn't feel anything except that cold. There was a thump in her ears that sounded like a distant drum, and with the feel of Aragorn's arms wrapped around her, she suspected that she had nearly toppled over.

She gasped nervously, blinking angrily and trying to see the world again through that blinding white light. She fought to steady her breathing and right herself. The heartbeat in her ears was still just as powerful, but with every deep breath, she felt it calm just a little bit more.

When her vision cleared, they all stared at her, but her eyes sought out Aragorn firstly. He kissed her forehead and held her closer. "You need not have done that," Gandalf finally remarked when Arathell felt her breath return to some form of normalcy. "I could see it well enough. You are weak."

"In case you didn't notice, Aragorn held the palantir as well," she snapped. Everyone stared at her confused. "I was holding him. I might as well have been holding the thing myself," she hissed, glaring at a grey mass that cloaked the poisonous orb.

"You felt it through him?" Gandalf now asked, intrigued. He moved from Pippin to the two of them and she noticed Merry take up the neglected spot next to Pippin. "How?"

Arathell twitched out a shrug. "Maybe my gift, maybe my ties to him, who can say? I am not inherently weak," she ground out. She pulled herself out of Aragorn's arms but held onto his hand. Only then did she realize that they had yet to let go of one another since he held the palantir moments ago. "This was Sauron's doing."

Gandalf nodded, muttering things to himself before looking up at the two of them. "You told him nothing either?" he questioned.

"Of course not," they both replied instantly. Arathell noticed how shaky Aragorn was then and moved to at least sit closer to him. Were it not for all of the prying eyes of those who were slowly awakening around them, she would have done everything possible to keep Aragorn close. She wanted to wrap her body around him even then, shielding them both from the horror the palantir had caused.

Again, she could only marvel at the strength of the little Hobbit in front of her.

The Wizard nodded, looking calm at last. He looked back at Pippin who was still gaining control over his breathing with the help of Merry coaxing him to breathe. "Go to bed," he finally told them all.

"We'll be alright in a minute," Aragorn breathed.

"No, I want you and Arathell to rest. You are in no state to continue watching. I will do so for the rest of the night. Legolas will help." The Elf nodded.

"What about me?" Pippin squeaked.

Gandalf turned an almost playful gaze to the Hobbit. "Well, if you think that you can do so, I would have you walk to Minas Tirith this instant to tell them of what you saw." Pippin's face blanched. "No," he sighed. "No, you also will rest for now. I have an idea set in mind for you but it can wait until the morning properly comes around." His gaze turned wary then. "But I will ask that you never look into it again. It is a miracle that your mind was able to withstand such a force, and yet another miracle entirely that you saw what you did without giving away any crucial information. You have done well, despite your foolishness. You have earned a fitful rest. Merry," he added, looking at the other Hobbit who was wringing his hands in fear. His eyes were glassy as he clearly considered what could have happened to his best friend moments ago. "Help him sleep. All will be properly sorted. And you need not worry for him. I suspect he has learned enough to satiate his foolish curiosity, and it is his own fault besides. And I will keep the palantir with me during the watch, so he will not be able to satisfy any rogue desires."

Merry nodded hesitantly and slipped in beside Pippin, patting his friend's shoulder gently. "I'm going to look after you," he murmured, though Pippin was already looking considerably drowsy.

Gandalf stood then and left the chamber, Legolas following after a moment of looking at them all. "You will be alright?" he asked carefully, eyeing both her and Aragorn as well as the Hobbit pair. She, along with everyone else, nodded. Legolas returned the gesture and then left without another word.

"Should we stay?" she whispered to Aragorn, gesturing to the two Hobbits.

"No," he replied and moved to stand up, taking her with him. They both were a little wobbly on their feet, but they adjusted to it quickly, shaking their heads clean of any unwanted thoughts, though it didn't work – at least for her anyway.

They shakily made their way back to the chamber they had shared the night before. There were fewer people here this time, and she knew that many had made their metaphorical beds next to empty barrels in the main hall. The Elves were also still absent, having never left their watch, she suspected.

All in all, only about a dozen Men remained here and all were snoring so loudly, her still boggled mind was aggravated by the noise. She groaned at the sound, knowing that Aragorn would understand her plea.

They struggled with their bedrolls, packing and lifting them away all while never breaking the hold they had over one another. They moved through the house quietly until they found a completely abandoned hallway, and here she sighed, announcing her satisfaction. She couldn't bother to wonder why there was an abandoned hall here when she knew that the house was overflowing with people now.

Still without breaking contact, they unrolled their makeshift beds, placing them nearly on top of one another. Closeness was in high order tonight and not even propriety was going to stand in the way.

Only when they both lied down on the beds, foreheads pressed in a definite bruising manner against each other did they speak. "Did you hear his laugh?" she murmured.

Aragorn nodded against her. "Minas Tirith," he stated and she knew immediately what he was thinking.

"I cannot hear thoughts, but Gandalf seemed quite determined about something. I'm assuming he means to go and warn them," she said slowly.

"I'm sure they already know."

Arathell sighed and nuzzled herself into him, feeling his hand settle possessively on her hip. "We always knew that Gondor would be the endgame. Even though we won in Rohan, Gondor is the last challenge. Once that country is taken, there will be nowhere else to go."

"Do you think Dol-Amroth knows to go?"

"Denethor is as cunning as they come. He will have guessed Sauron's plot by now, and if has been foolish enough to not ask for aid, then I would think that Imrahil already knows and is moving to the city as we speak."

"Rohan has received no word," Aragorn reminded.

"Hence Gandalf going," she retorted.

" _We_ should be going," he growled.

Arathell smiled softly, reaching to tangle her hand in his hair. He sighed and leaned into her touch. "We will," she soothed. "But would you really only go just to be a messenger?" She purposefully arched an eyebrow and didn't care if the dark masked it or not. "The rightful King of Gondor arriving to ask Rohan for help? Even if someone needs to do it, your return should be much more than that. We'll go with an army; you'll see."

Aragorn frowned. "I would much rather see my city once more, untarnished, than to see it later when it is nothing but a pile of ash and ruins."

"Love, it is already tarnished," she muttered. "The demons of war have already had their way with _our_ city and it is not the place that it once was. You would find no more joy there now than you would after."

His face broke into a tender smile. "You said that it was ours."

Arathell rolled her eyes but gave him a quick kiss. "I'm simply going by the tradition that whatever is yours is therefore also mine by default."

His smile grew again and his lips pressed insistently on hers until her breath was quite literally stolen from her. When he finally pulled away, she rolled away and pushed her back into his chest. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around her, taking her hand while laying his other arm out in an offer of a pillow. She accepted it with ease and felt her legs tangle with his as if it was a rehearsed move. She chuckled then when she realized that neither of them had bothered to remove their boots.

"Forever?" she whispered, feeling safe in his arms. The deranged laugh of the Dark Lord would not penetrate her dreams tonight. Already sleep was taking her.

"Always," he whispered right back, strands of hair whistling on her cheek. She felt his lips on her shoulder, the kiss almost reverent. She lifted their clasped hands for a moment to kiss the back of his palm in return.

 **Suppose we could maybe get to 600? I'd love to award a one-shot! Sometimes, you guys send me little ideas every now and then, and all of them, I would love to sink my teeth into! PM's on, and please, please, please review! What do we think about the chapter? Any questions generated, or anything that you liked? Let me know!**

 **Check out the music! (Oh my, it's another Alter Bridge song... so very surprising, that :P)**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	66. Chapter 66

**Hello, lovelies! We made it to 600 reviews! How very exciting! Congratulations to** _Draygen_ **for being number 600! And thank you all for getting me this far. I truly appreciate it. Here's to getting to 700! But as Draygen won, I do have a one-shot to announce! Its title is** _"An Ally In…"_ **and I would love for you all to check it out! It is quite different from previous one-shots and really was a very fun challenge for me. Give it a read and maybe a review? That'd be great!**

 **Alright, well, we have more plot/movie talk today! Along with one or two extra scenes for our very special couple. Please leave me a review?**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Running Up That Hill - Placebo

"And if I only could,  
I'd make a deal with God,  
And I'd get him to swap our places,  
Be running up that road,  
Be running up that hill,  
Be running up that building.  
If I only could, oh"

* * *

 **March 10, 3019 – Edoras**

That morning when her eyes eventually cracked open, Aragorn was there. Already awake, she looked at him groggily and gave him a sleepy smile. She didn't know how, but they had ended up facing one another in their sleep, but he still had an arm lazily draped over her waist, playing with some of her hair.

"Elves normally sleep with their eyes open," he mentioned, the question posed.

Arathell shrugged with boredom and closed her eyes again. "Yes, they do. But you forget that I am Half-Elven. I always thought that explained it well enough."

"Or that you were meant to be human." His voice was soft, but the declaration might as well have been a blade through her gut.

Her eyes snapped open again and met his cool gaze, completely awake. She knew that it was a reasonable statement, and she had even hinted at him before in the stables that becoming human was her intention. And they had even discussed it when her affections for Boromir were still a factor.

But now it was different. He was sure and the time for hinting was gone. Now, he made it sound as if it wasn't just another option. Now it was something that was going to happen. It was a part of her future and therefore a part of his future. She would become human and she would do it for him.

There were hundreds of thoughts buzzing in her head and as she tried to make sense of them all, she noticed that she hadn't said anything to his comment. He didn't appear surprised, only maintained that cool and collected exterior that she was currently very jealous of.

"I'm not asking that you forsake your immortality now," he cautioned and she exhaled, her eyes falling down for a moment to collect herself before looking back up at him warily. "It would hardly be romantic, after all." She didn't even try to laugh. He shook his head in disbelief at her reaction. "Arathell, we've both acknowledged that this was a possibility."

"It almost sounded dictatorial," she finally croaked.

"If the battle at Minas Tirith is where we will lay our lives down, I am assuming that you would rather die as a human rather than an Elf," he reasoned.

"And why would that be?" she retorted.

"So that we can be together in the Halls of Mandos," he said simply, shutting her down again. It was true that she loved this Man with everything in her being and she was more than willing to be with him for the rest of her life. But to know that he intended for them to be together for the rest of eternity was another matter entirely. It wasn't a bad thought and she would be lying to herself if she said that the prospect of an eternity with his soul did not make her incredibly giddy.

It was just that this was another one of those wretched moments where she was feeling incredibly insecure about herself. It was that this was another one of those storybook moments where there was someone who loved her enough to want her to be his for all of time. Arathell would never know how, but there were times when she truly forgot how much he loved her, always thinking that her affection for him somehow ran deeper than his – like he couldn't feel the pure joy she did when she was around him. But he loved her like that. This Ranger, this Man, this King loved her and wanted to commit himself to her.

Arathell still didn't have a clue as what to say now. She wanted him that way too, but she had been an Elf for almost three thousand years. What would it be like to be Human? Would it hurt? Would she lose some of that charm she had that drew him to her in the first place? What if she wasn't the same person?

"Souls don't change," he murmured, as if he was reading her thoughts.

She scoffed. "My sister said that. It was right after she met you, actually. I told her that she was absurd for thinking it. Everything can change. Even souls. Even mine has changed on this journey, just from being with you."

Aragorn shook his head in arrogant dismissal and inched himself closer. "No, I knew who you were the moment I met you. You just needed to discover that for yourself."

Arathell took a shuddering breath and looked away. The insecurity continued. He had too much faith in her sometimes, and even with her newfound confidence – a confidence she refused to acknowledge just _who_ had convinced her of – there were moments where she really wondered if his belief in her was too great. "How are you feeling?" she finally asked, shrugging herself away slightly.

"From the palantir?" he guessed, thankfully allowing her to quit the subject they had been on. Despite his almost too positive words, he at least knew when to leave her be and let her come to her own conclusions. "It was… more than anything I would have thought possible. I had my own suspicions, but that was… raw. It was as if all of my blood was on fire and was being pulled through every pore of my skin at once. My head…"

"Broke," she supplied, seeing him nod hesitantly. She understood how he felt.

"I couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't… touch. I could only hurt and burn." He scoffed. "For a moment, I thought I was dying."

Here, Arathell shook her head. "Dying is nothing like that." He stared at her solemnly, as if only now remembering that there was a time where she had truly nearly died. He didn't ask her to continue. "Your body forgets about pain. You know that you are dying, so why would you feel pain? Pain is… it is in the mind, like the palantir. Dying is terrifying. Because you can't stop it. Your heart is pounding and all you hear are screams. I don't think you scream because you are in pain. You are screaming because it is the end. And if you are screaming from pain, then you aren't dying. Pain only means that you are alive enough to still feel. The only thing you feel when you are dying is cold. Like you are enveloped in ice and can't move – you can't even breathe. You're trying, but it gets harder and harder and then… I suppose you just stop." She felt her body shudder and her hand subconsciously went straight to the scar across her chest. "It's all fear – nothing else."

"You stopped it," he murmured.

She ignored the words. "I would gladly take what I felt when Angmar scarred me over what the palantir did to me," she admitted. "That was worse than death."

"Even with a scar?"

"The palantir scarred my mind just fine."

He seemed to concede the point before his eyes went to her neck and then only a little lower to where he knew her scar was located. Now, it was covered by her clothes, but Arathell felt like he still saw through them to the scar anyway. It was unnerving, seeing his mouth settle into a tight frown… probably considering how he could make her feel better or even heal her. For a moment, he did nothing, but then his hand was suddenly on her scar. He did nothing with his hand, merely leaving it there, gently pressing on the fabric covering her old wound. It didn't hurt, but it felt strange. She could feel Rhetar pushing into her skin, most likely leaving an indent over the scar.

"What are you doing?" she breathily murmured.

"You took some of my pain when I held the palantir," he explained. "We shared it – the pain."

"This doesn't hurt anymore," she said with a gesture.

"Maybe not bodily." It was a tight compromise, and both knew exactly what was meant with those words, but neither of them mentioned it further. "You also do not need to worry about me," he continued simply, readjusting himself. She arched an eyebrow for elaboration. "I feel fine."

Arathell nodded with understanding and relief. Given their discussion topics, she had suspected it, but it was nice to have that reassurance. "As am I," she replied. She gave him a cheeky grin and looked down at his hand. "So there is no reason for you to be touching my chest like that. Imagine the scandal if we were discovered in such a compromising situation. The future King of Gondor being improper with an Elven maiden," she teased.

She waited for him to correct her, but his eyes only sparkled back with playfulness. "They won't question his actions either, especially if he were to relay that said Elven maiden…" He gave her a coy look that actually made her laugh, "…were to be my Queen anyway."

Unlike his earlier comment about being committed to mortality, this statement did not frighten her in the slightest. She was unsure that it would ever really happen with the dreadfulness of an almost guaranteed apocalypse surrounding them, but it was a pleasant daydream to have. "I'm not your Queen yet," she reminded.

"As I said… I do not think they will be questioning who is and who isn't my Queen."

"If we were in Gondor, maybe you would get away with your mortal desires."

"I don't know if they are so mortal, meleth," he purred.

She fought the blush. "We still aren't in Gondor."

"I don't care," he said stoutly, leaving no room for argument. She felt herself smiling at his behavior. She could acknowledge that it was a tad possessive, and she knew that this was something that needed to be discouraged just because she enjoyed and thrived on her independence. However with that fiery look in his eyes, it was very hard to tell him to stop. Additionally, she knew that he had never looked at her as a possession before and she knew him well enough to know that he never would. She could allow it, she supposed, especially given the tingles she felt when he referred to her as _his_ Queen. Even before he sat on the throne, he had the titles sorted. Even before he had the actual right, he named her Queen anyway. People had called him King, but it was his blood that spoke for him. She was Queen because he wanted it so. And because he wanted it so, he felt bold enough to claim it so. It was endearing and maddeningly attractive all at once.

"Well, regardless of whether or not you deem your actions appropriate," she drawled, gesturing to his hand which had only seemed to have put more pressure on her, "I do believe that we ought to get up. I can see dawn's light through the windows, which means that everyone else is undoubtedly awake. Gandalf said he had plans and whether or not you and I are alright after the palantir, we should see how Pippin is faring. He held it on his own and for a much longer period of time than you and I did."

"I'm sure he has made an even speedier recovery than you or I," he mentioned but untangled himself from her nonetheless. He gave her a tender push off of a part of his bedroll and began rolling it up. She stood a moment later to copy his actions. "Hobbits are rather resilient, and he is related to Frodo and Bilbo, after all."

She agreed but did not say anything.

Once finished, they began making their way to the Main Hall. And only now did Aragorn show any kind of shyness. When he was with her, he seemed to be all-powerful and in control of his environment, but what she saw beside her now was a wise King who understood all of the consequences that could potentially arise based off of how they had spent their waking moments, mixed with a boyish timidity over how boldly he had acted.

Arathell, conversely, felt herself adopt his morning role. She placed a calm, cool mask over her features and felt confident to balance his worries. She would be playful while he would be serious and she would be the warrior while he was being the King. She didn't mind the role reversal and a part of her enjoyed it thoroughly, knowing that it only meant that they matched in every way possible and were able to provide where the other was lacking.

When they arrived there, she was not surprised to see Legolas and Gimli already present, Gimli warding away a hangover with more ale and Legolas watching the grotesque scene unfurl with interest. Théoden was sitting at his throne, finger stroking back and forth over his mustache, so deep in thought that he clearly had not seen them come in. Gandalf was already pacing the room, staring intently at Théoden as he did so.

"Where is Pippin?" she asked, announcing their presence. She quitted Aragorn's side, speedily entering the chamber, displaying that air of confidence with ease. She stopped directly in the center of the room, feeling all eyes on her as she waited stoically for an answer.

"He is quite alright," the Wizard assured her. "He should be along now any moment with Merry, I suspect. They are perhaps the only people who overslept longer than the two of you." He eyed them carefully.

She heard Aragorn shuffle his feet closer and when he walked past her, she noticed with a slightly cocky smile that he stared with a practiced boredom at what Gandalf was insinuating, clearly intent on keeping her supposed honor intact. "We have been awake long enough," she drawled, blatantly grinning mischievously. The others would believe whatever they chose to believe. As much as it truly did bother her that she did not have her virtue to give to him, Aragorn was right when he said that he was the King, crowned or not.

Everyone stared at her incredulously, and she saw into their minds enough to know that they were wondering what they had done during their time they spent awake together. The thought annoyed her and now the game was over. She pursed her lips, staring mostly at Gandalf and Théoden. "What Aragorn and I _speak_ about in our time alone is none of your business," she contested with contempt. "I will not be looked at as a girl with such mortal desires that I cannot make the distinction between what is pious and what is not." She paused, both still looking a little wary of her comments. "That being said, if Aragorn and I _were_ to go beyond those bounds, I would expect that you all keep your opinions to yourselves. I, for one, am older than everyone in this room, asides from Gandalf, and Aragorn was raised by my father, Lord Elrond. If anything suspected to be improper _were_ to happen then it would not happen rashly and it _still_ would be none of your business. Our relationship is not be ridiculed by any of you seeing as none of you have partners of your own to compare with." Her eyes glanced to Legolas who looked on with a challenge. She knew he would never question her and Aragorn; it had been him who had so fiercely pushed them together. Arathell then looked to Théoden who looked as though he was bursting trying to keep an opinion inside. "You have been married," she said to him. "I understand this. But I do not answer to you and I never have. You should know that while I appreciate the friendship you have bestowed upon me, it is not critical for me to have your approval in all of my affairs… _whatever_ they may be."

The King shifted uncomfortably in his throne before finally standing and coming to the center of the room with her and the others. He avoided eye contact and she gave a stiff nod. Arathell looked at Gandalf next, seeing a strange mix of respect and unease in his eyes. Aragorn looked at her boldly and without reproach, coming to stand beside her. He did not say anything but from the look in his eyes, the cool grey had turned into a storm that threatened to overtake her. He approved.

"Now," Aragorn stated, looking at Gandalf and folding his arms slightly with his dominance making no attempt to hide within Rohan's halls. "You said Pippin would be along?"

Gandalf nodded quickly, as if only now remembering the purpose of this meeting. He gestured to one of the guards to fetch the two Hobbits.

They waited in silence. Arathell knew well enough that Théoden was even more uncomfortable. She was not sure if he truly thought that her behavior with Aragorn was something to be angry about or if he was simply embarrassed that she had drawn attention to a perhaps not desperate opinion. It didn't matter. She wasn't about to make apologies. Her words were final and she figured they needed to be stated anyway. Before and after Helm's Deep, their behavior was looked at as nothing more than zealous relief at one another's safety. Now it was real desire and real affection that they bestowed on one another. She scoffed. They would have to learn to accept it.

Merry and Pippin ran in ahead of the guard, both with flushed cheeks and panting. The smell of smoke wafted through her nostrils and she sighed, all tension dissipating around her as she smiled. Pippin seemed to be in better spirits, if not looking a little apologetic for being so late. Merry looked partially ashamed of himself for maybe not noting the time. Desperate to look responsible, he stood to his greatest height, still panting. "I apologize, my lords and lady for the tardiness. It was my intention to keep better track of the time and Pippin is not to blame. I kept him distracted by trying to make him think about more pleasant things instead of the palantir."

"By smoking?" Gimli grumbled.

Both Hobbits blushed but Merry looked at Théoden. "Again, my apologies, Your Majesty. It shall not happen again. I promise."

"No time for apologies now," Gandalf rushed. "Too much time spent talking as it is," she heard him mutter under his breath, making her roll her eyes. "As everyone knows, during the night, there was an incident with the palantir that was recovered from Orthanc. Pippin was unfortunately ensnared by its power and despite my best efforts, managed to look into it. Equally unfortunate, Sauron perceived Pippin and attempted to learn of the Ring's location. It is possible Saruman relayed that it is in the hands of a Halfling and he suspected it was Pippin who held it. That does not matter. I spoke with Pippin afterwards, asking him what was seen and what he heard. It was all very general, it would appear. But, Pippin tells me that he did not speak to Sauron at all about the Ring or Frodo." There was baited breath her provided by Théoden while the others already knew the outcome. "There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool… but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring." Gimli sighed and she only then realized that he had slept through the entire ordeal. "As unideal as this has been… we have also been strangely fortunate. Pippin saw in the palantir a glimpse of the Enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

Aragorn bowed his head and held his arms closer to himself. "It is the next logical step," she murmured, seeing everyone nod in agreement. Aragorn remained quiet, looking down still.

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our Enemy one thing. He knows the heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still and strength enough perhaps to challenge him." Aragorn's head rose again and she noticed with a small smile a look of pride and determination fall over him. "Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of Men." Aragorn rested his chin on his fist beside her. "If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war." She nodded hastily.

"Tell me," Théoden drawled and she stared at the King with nervousness. "Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?" Her mouth fell open at this, no sound being able to come out with the surprise that controlled her lips. "What do we owe Gondor?"

"I will go," Aragorn nearly growled.

"No!" Gandalf retorted.

"They must be warned!" he continued, hands falling open to the sides. Somehow, this looked even more threatening than having him with his arms crossed. He could reach his sword better here.

"They will be," Gandalf soothed before walking up to them, words falling quiet. Aragorn crossed his arms again. "You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the River. Look to the Black Ships." He turned away and his voice had escalated. "Understand this: things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith." He paused and looked to the Hobbits who remained quiet now. "And I won't be going alone."

All was quiet for a moment as everyone absorbed what he could mean by that. Everyone came to the conclusion at roughly the same time, all knowing who it was he intended to take with him. Pippin seemed to catch on a moment after that. "Me?" he squeaked. "Why do you need to take me?"

"We can keep him better protected here as opposed to the road… and then a war zone evidently," Théoden stated, still a little contempt cloaking his tone. She bit her tongue and tried to focus more on the issue at hand.

"Hobbits have many uses it seems," Gandalf commented, still looking at Pippin who was squirming under the inquisitive gaze. "Bullroarer Took knocked the Goblin King's head clean off, creating golf at the same time, mind you. Bilbo Baggins helped reclaim Erebor and defeat a Dragon. Frodo Baggins looks to destroy an Enemy greater than he could possibly imagine… Peregrin Took belongs to this family and whether it be actual skill or incredible luck, either will be useful here."

"Take me instead," Merry offered, coming to stand in front of his friend.

Gandalf shook his head. "No, I believe your use is best served here. I see something on the horizon for you, Master Brandybuck, and it cannot be in Minas Tirith."

"Mithrandir," she murmured, falling into the Elven name. "We only just reclaimed our Hobbits," she begged quietly, feeling the motherly instinct take over. "Must we send another one of them into danger?"

"Danger will come to all soon enough," the Wizard replied hastily. "Come along now. I have already had Shadowfax prepared for this journey. We leave now."

"Before breakfast?" Pippin asked, seeming to find his voice.

"It is nearly noon," Gandalf stated. "By all accounts, you have already had breakfast and your second breakfast and perhaps your elevensies. You will survive, I am sure." Pippin blushed and nodded. Merry hurried to follow after Gandalf with a hard look on his face.

"Pippin!" Legolas caught his attention and gestured to the leaving pair. Pippin looked hesitant, pausing for a moment like he wanted to have a proper goodbye from the Fellowship.

"We haven't done goodbyes before," Gimli stated, also catching the Hobbit's desire. "And it has kept us breathing. We won't start now. Run off now, young Hobbit."

Pippin still looked unsure but took off once he saw Merry and Gandalf had already left the building.

* * *

 **Let me know what you think about the chapter! Had a little bit of everything going on here, which is great.**

 **Thanks for 600 reviews, and everyone check out** _"An Ally In…"_ **dedicated to** _Draygen!_ **Congrats again!**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	67. Chapter 67

**Hey there everyone! Thanks for reviewing and following and favoriting this story! I appreciate it bunches!**

 **Don't really have a whole lot to say today… We have some original scenes today… maybe a little light on the romance, but still very important. A lot of you have been wondering… so please leave your thoughts!**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Never Born to Follow - Alter Bridge

"Into this life she was born  
A firefly in the storm  
And god how she would burn  
She needed so much more"

* * *

 _Pippin still looked unsure but took off once he saw Merry and Gandalf had already left the building._

They all sighed in unison. Legolas and Gimli looked at her and Aragorn and gave one another knowing looks. It could have been the last time they saw their Hobbit, but none of them would say such a thing now. Saying it could make it come true and while all of them realistic, none of them wanted any harm to fall over Pippin.

What saddened her most was that if anything were to actually happen, it would be away from Merry. The two were inseparable and looked at each other as more than best friends, but brothers. She couldn't bear the thought of having to tell one or the other that their brother was gone. Telling them of Boromir's demise had been more than unpleasant as it was and they hadn't even known him for a year.

"Someone should see to Merry," she murmured and all eyes fell on her. She merely shook her head, thinking that she really did not have any words of comfort to give to Merry. Only darkness and pessimistic thoughts were swirling in her mind which would not help the remaining Hobbit in the slightest. She was never good at hope and now was the worst time to try to be.

Aragorn had evidently taken up the task himself as Gimli patted her on the arm and Legolas led her to one of the little tables where there was a rudimentary breakfast laid out. Théoden did not join them, but she was alright with that.

She tried to understand the King of Rohan. He was a good Man, and this was obvious. He wanted the best for his people and he wanted to appear strong and regal. She was sure that having a Man like Aragorn around in his own home was not helpful. He tried to overcompensate to the Ranger whose leading abilities were subtle but almighty. People followed Aragorn without even thinking about it. Théoden was trying too hard to win the affections of his people and lacked some of the confidence – or at least in Aragorn's presence. She imagined that having an Elf Prince and a legendary Elven lady along with a stubborn Dwarf following Aragorn's every whim didn't help either. Even Gandalf paid more attention to Aragorn, and the Wizard was greater than any of them.

Still, even trying to understand him, she could not grasp why Théoden was determine to allow Gondor to suffer on its own. He had to know that calling for aid at Helm's Deep would have been useless. And he had refused to call them regardless, even after Aragorn had impressed it upon him to do so. He lacked such confidence that anyone would help and now in victory, he thought himself above helping a withering country like Gondor.

There had always been a tense alliance there. From the beginnings of Rohan, the Horse Country was set on making itself different from Gondor. It bred brute strength and utter surety while Gondor had emphasis on expansion of knowledge and a highly born pride. Neither was honestly "better" than the other and both had their strengths and weaknesses that had been passed along through time. But what Théoden was suggesting was almost cruel. He had seen the death – no, the slaughter – of his own people. She would have thought that he would want to prevent further bloodshed of any Man. Men were stubborn and quick to feel hurt and were slow to forgive. But this was potentially the end of their race. Now was not the time to be playing games like this. And that was what they were: games.

"So, lassie," Gimli finally stated and she almost jumped at the suddenness of his words. "What were you really up to this morning with Aragorn?"

She sighed and rested her forehead in her hand as her elbow pressed into the wood of the table. "It was not as exciting as you make it out to be, my friend," she drawled, though her mind did remember with some fondness how he had attempted to take her pain from her scar. It was pointless to try, but it was caring of him regardless.

"Théoden looked suspicious," Legolas muttered.

"He was not with us this morning, if I recall correctly," she retorted. "He doesn't know anything of our relationship, and I would like to keep it that way. I live with you both knowing because you two simply won't stay quiet about it. For example," she gestured to Gimli, referring to his question. "But you two are common friends to Aragorn and I and it is thanks to you both that we have come to our senses. As much as I would like to selfishly keep my relationship with him quiet, it seems that I owe you at least a few crumbs every now and then." Legolas grinned smugly and she slapped his arm. "Hush your mouth before you say something stupid. Friends or not, I will kill you myself if I get tired of all of these questions." Legolas held up his hands in surrender but the coy smirk remained firmly planted on his lips and didn't seem to be leaving any time soon.

"Where are your other Elves?" Legolas finally asked after another moment of silence that was marked by Gimli and Legolas trading teasing looks that they thought she didn't notice.

"They aren't mine. They can go where they wish," she responded, though truthfully, she had wondered where they had gone. She hadn't seen them since the night before when they were standing guard before the palantir and Pippin. "Have you met them properly?"

"They don't like me much," Gimli mentioned. "No love lost there."

Legolas and she chuckled before the Elf answered, "Lagordir and I have spoken every now and again. Amdir as well – he doesn't mind Gimli so much. Brastor and I have traded pleasantries every now and again, but he…" Legolas shrugged.

"He doesn't speak much," she finished with a nod. "He doesn't strike me as someone who actively looks for friendship and I don't think he would start with the Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas shrugged again. "And I only know Gorthion by his face only. He won't have anything to do with me. There is something about him that troubles me so I have never bothered to make his acquaintance."

"Won't have anything to do with me either," Gimli added, gnawing on half-eaten chicken leg.

Arathell rolled her eyes at his behavior. "I do not like him either. The others don't trust him. His anger is even greater than Thorin's was."  
"Mahal, bless his soul," Gimli said simply with a shake of his head.

She nodded. "I would prefer him gone and I have even told him as much. But he is determined to stay with us until the end. I don't think he has anyone to go back to and he has expressed to me that dying in battle is the only thing he looks forward to anymore. He wouldn't let anyone end him out of courtesy for honor's sake." She scoffed. "He doesn't have any of that to begin with, if you ask me."

"Aragorn has told me as much," Legolas agreed.

"How?" Gimli asked with a playful sparkle in his eyes. "He has barely left Arathell's side since his resurrection."

"You're hilarious." Arathell didn't bother to hide the sarcasm. "We're apart now in case you didn't notice. And we weren't talking about him and me, remember? We are talking about Gorthion and his lack of honor in all areas known to the Valar."

"Has he tried anything improper with you?" Legolas suddenly asked.

"I just said I'm not talking anymore about Aragorn –"

"I wasn't talking about Aragorn," he interrupted.

Gimli paused mid-bite and stared while Legolas seemed to have already made his guesses. "No, he hasn't," she lied the memory of Helm's Deep with him and Brastor a patch of unpleasantly hot embers in her memory. "I just don't like him."

"Amdir said something different…"

"And what would Amdir know?" she retorted. "He and I haven't had more than a two minute conversation at any given time. I have spoken more with Brastor out of any of them."

"And Brastor is Amdir's brother," he reminded. "Brothers talk. You should know; you have two of them." She pursed her lips and made to stand. "Yes, run," he mocked, "because that has worked so well for you in the past." She ground her teeth and settled back in her seat again. "I trust that you have made your position clear enough and we know that should you ever feel truly in danger, you'd end him yourself." Gimli nodded firmly. "You won't ask us for help, but you know how to handle it. We do not doubt you."

"We only worry for you, lass," Gimli said gently now. "Our Fellowship is getting smaller by the day and we have to look out of for what is left of it. We stand behind your decisions fully and we know you can take care of yourself. But it would be un-family-like to not tell you that should you ever need anything from us, we would do everything we could to see it done. We look out for our own. And you were ours before those bastards came along and you'll be ours when they leave. And if that Gorthion knows what is good for him he'll leave you well enough alone. He should know that our Fellowship doesn't stand up politely against threats."

Arathell's face softened and she reached across the table and took one of the Dwarf's hands. He was forced to unclasp his chicken leg and looked mildly upset to do so but allowed her the privilege anyway. "Thank you, Gimli," she told him softly. "It means a great deal for me to hear what you think of me. I'm not used to so many people actively looking out for me all at once so you have to understand that there are times when I may not know how to show proper appreciation. But if it is any consolation, I look at you both similarly. I would gladly die to protect both of your lives."

"Well that's surprising," Legolas drawled.

She groaned and smacked him again. "You're a moron."

Legolas laughed but took her other hand and gave it a firm squeeze. She repeated the gesture. The two of them were bonded closer than either would ever admit. She may have hated him when they first met, but it had grown to become a very sturdy friendship. Both were too stubborn to admit that to one another and there would always be some hesitation to show how they both really felt for each other, but they showed it in their own ways. Playful and teasing remarks to lighten the mood were only one of the many tactics that took away some of that seriousness between the two. Neither could bear to see the other too tender as it went against every boundary they had constructed for the other. But in truth, she saw Legolas as a brother, just as she knew that she was a sister to him. They would yell and mock and scold one another for everything but she knew that, behind Aragorn, her father and grandmother, there would be no greater protector. Even with her relationship patched with Elrohir and Elladan, she would trust Legolas more over them. Legolas had never hurt her.

Arathell let go of both of their hands and finally stood. "I was thinking of visiting with Éowyn today."

"Staking your claim to Aragorn even further then?" Legolas assumed with a sigh.

"I happen to like her very much, actually," she retorted. "I see myself in her and I think that with all of the Men who have told her no, she should have a fellow woman tell her yes."

"You can't go against Théoden's wishes, Arathell," Legolas warned.

"If Théoden has his way, it shouldn't even be a concern anyway." Arathell winked and took a grape and plopped it in her mouth. "We'll just stay here and wait for Mordor to come to us. I'm sure he'll be much more agreeable then."

Both of them shook their heads but didn't say anything as she walked away from them.

It was true that she intended to spend some time with Éowyn. The girl really was a lot like herself, only riding time at a much faster pace than Arathell had ever been forced to endure. In age alone was the girl young anymore. Even her body had been forced to harden under the oppression Saruman had had her under. Having Grima in her presence must have been equally debilitating. She did not know if the snake did anything to her, but making her watch her last living guardian break had to have been torture. That was what drove her to the brink. It had to be. A girl lost all control within her environment and suddenly longed for a way to control it again, by whatever means necessary. But the world had failed her hopes again, allowing her to learn but never letting her experience it.

She wandered through the house, looking for the girl and eventually found her in an abandoned study room. Arathell had nearly missed it with the door closed, but the resounding crash inside gave her enough suspicion to push the door in.

Éowyn was sitting dejectedly on a window sill, books from dusty shelves littering the floor. Arathell frowned, instantly remembering her own books thrown about on the floor once. She had done it to have control. Her father had denied her wish so Arathell took her anger out on words. It was words that betrayed her and it would be words she would exact her revenge on. She suspected Éowyn reacted this way for the same reason.

Arathell knew better than to pick up the discarded books. Carefully sidestepping each one of them so as not to ruin the abstract pattern on the floor, she sat down next to the girl.

Her shoulders were hunched, arms locked as she held her body up, white knuckles tucking over the ledge of the sill. Arathell relaxed and pulled her feet up to rest her folded hands on her knees. "Not here to chastise me?" Éowyn muttered.

Arathell shrugged. "I've been where you are. I know chastising doesn't work so why would I bother?"

The Woman chuckled darkly and leaned back, the madness she was trying to rein in tossed to the wind. She slouched back until her shoulder blades pressed against the dirty wall next to Arathell's and her hands fell limply at her sides while her legs dangled partially open. "Why are you here then?" she croaked, abandoning even politeness with her voice.

"What troubles you?" Arathell asked. Éowyn did not look at her but arched a brow as she stared at her work spread out on the floor. "Rather, why are you in this fit now? By all accounts, you should be at least somewhat happy. Rohan is safe today and your uncle and brother are alive. I think your people would say that you should be grateful. Yet here you are, acting as though the end of the world lies on your doorstep."

"I spoke with my uncle," she ground out, shifting a little on the sill, still not looking at Arathell. She waited for her to continue, staring imploringly. "He says that Gondor could be meeting its end in days. He says that if Gondor wished for Rohan's Men to aid them in their despair, they should have made better friendships with us here." She scoffed. "What he means is that he wished it was their blood that was spilt at Helm's Deep and not our own. What he means is that help will not be coming to Gondor and we shall be alone here until Mordor comes for us. Maybe he thinks that it won't; I do not know. Maybe he thinks that there will be time to leave Rohan and find safety where the Enemy cannot find us. It is all a mystery to me; he would not say anything more. I only wonder what will happen once Gondor is gone. It wouldn't be left alone. No amount of goodwill that is stored within those white walls would prevent Mordor's hordes from seeping in. Darkness is going to kill all of the light in the world and my uncle will allow it. My home, my country… we will be nothing but thieves in the night, fighting to breathe and starving in the cold."

Arathell wished there were words that could help the girl sitting beside her. But she felt that Éowyn would know that any words of comfort from her would be a lie. Everything the girl had preached were thoughts that ran through her own mind. How could she deny them when this girl was brave enough to expose her heart this way? Arathell was never brave enough to do that. All of her anguish was buried under a cold exterior that projected little care for what happened to the world. It took immense trust for Éowyn to tell her these things and she would not reward that trust with a lie of hope.

"Aragorn is a fierce Man," she slowly said, seeing how Éowyn stiffened at the name. Clearly, feelings were not yet gone, but Arathell did not mind. She knew the girl would do nothing to steal him. "His future is Gondor. He will give his life for that country whether he is its King or its protector. I will not promise that he will make your uncle see it as he does, but he is too proud to not do his best convincing those around him. He has always been a leader. He will talk to Théoden and maybe Rohan's King will hear something from Gondor's." She laughed a little. "I do not think that Aragorn is above reminding your uncle everything he has done for your country. Your uncle asked what he owes Gondor and I am quite confident that Aragorn will be quick to answer that question."

"Even if my uncle agrees to go to Gondor's aid, as he should, I will be left here in Rohan, waiting only for Mordor's armies to signal me that my family is dead. I don't presume to think that we will live through this, but I would much rather die with them, fighting for a world that I want to live in than waiting for Death to take me when it feels the time is right. I am a Lady of Rohan, a royal in this house, and I will not bow down to anyone who thinks they know what I ought to do. And yet, here I sit, throwing books on the floor because my uncle denies me this. Is it not my right as a human to protect that which I care about?"

"You don't need to convince me, Éowyn," she murmured, reaching kindly to rest her hand on her arm. "I have been where you are and I know what you are feeling: like the world doesn't care about you anymore. It's as though you are officially demoted to the role of a pawn, a sacrifice to be made when the time is right. You feel like the world has even forgotten that you live still and is focusing only on people who have their names carved into stones." The girl sniffled. "I have been where you are," she repeated. "And now my name is known throughout all of this world. I do not have hope for much anymore, but at least there is hope that you can be remembered in the way that you wish to. You want the Orcs of the future to have horror stories about the fury in your eyes and the swiftness of your blade. You want them to think that it was a shame that they had to extinguish a fire like yours – like they could have used something that powerful."

"They will look at your death that way," she stated.

The forwardness the girl had was respectable and Arathell couldn't help but smile. It was refreshing to not have to pretend. It was even nice to casually discuss her eventual death without feeling like she was obliged to live through this war. It was alright to die when the time came.

"Yes," she agreed. "And if I had my way, they would look at your death that way as well."

"Well, there is nothing that can be done about it now."

"I wouldn't say that just yet. Whether or not Mordor will be coming to us or whether we will go to it, it would be an honor to spar with you a little. There are things that I could teach you that would maybe not make the entire world marvel – I do not think there would be time enough to make your stamp that great – but Rohan would look at you differently, for sure."

"Why do they call you Shadow?" she suddenly asked.

Arathell threw one leg out over the edge to join Éowyn's and leaned back harder against the wall. "It started because I could not be a warrior. I… Well, I admit that I was rather childish in my stubbornness then. My father told me that I would have no part in being a warrior, so I secluded myself from the world in my room for fifty years." Éowyn looked surprised. "Fifty years is nothing to an Elf. And I wasn't even one hundred when I made my decision. In my melancholy state, I would wear nothing but grey. You can imagine how my people started referring to me. The name means something different now. It has darker connotations and symbolizes that I am almost not even a real person. There are even people in my own race that have questioned whether I have a heart." She scoffed, wondering if there were any people who still stuck to that notion. A darker part of her wanted to show them just how wrong they were.

"But you are a mother," she murmured, angling her body so she faced Arathell more. The look in her eyes took Arathell immediately from that darker part. There was that youth again – that desire to learn and know more. Kara had looked at her that way before and still did on occasion. Seeing Éowyn like this now only showed to her that the girl wanted someone else in her life. She needed a companion that extended beyond her family. Perhaps that was why she attached herself to Aragorn so quickly.

Arathell smiled softly. "It was a long time ago. The name is feared more now with the race of Men, I think. But I am rather estranged from my kin… maybe they still think this way and I simply don't know it."

She frowned. "You speak as though they hate you…"

Here Arathell shifted in her seat and cleared her throat, looking away from her. That was something she was not going to talk about. "They call you the White Lady. Why?" she asked instead.

Éowyn fell silent and turned to face the door again. "I'm a symbol of hope to them. I'm innocence and purity personified. I am the last Woman of my house and I have seen more members of my family die than live. For some reason, they have taken the situation and the color I favor to wear…" She blushed and Arathell smiled, connecting to the similarity. "And they have reversed the situation. I'm not as naïve as everyone perceives. They think me innocent and pure, like this war has not blemished me. I'm unaffected by all of the goings on of my people and as long as I stand on the balcony facing them, they have hope."

"You don't have hope."

"I haven't for a long time."

They fell silent and the comradery that Arathell felt at that moment was paramount. She was the same as this girl. Normally, reflections of oneself would send the beholder to madness and drive them to hate. It was impossible to love something that so closely resembled oneself. Individuals were each other's harshest critics and any repetition was met swiftly with disapproval. It was as if hating the reflection somehow redeemed the person who committed the original crime.

It wasn't like that with Éowyn. Arathell had lived a life that wasn't awful by any means, but it tested her… mentally, emotionally, even physically sometimes, and then there were the pressures that were placed on her that she would have rather not been there. Her heart was damaged and her hope was broken and left in shards millennia ago. Éowyn was a young girl who had had the same hand dealt to her. So instead of hating the girl for her lack of faith or hope, Arathell could only think to take her under her wing. She had done this with everyone in the Fellowship already and with Kara's family, but Éowyn was different. This was a broken girl who needed protection just as Arathell once had needed protection. Except then, Arathell had been denied it and was forced to pave her way through the pain and obstacles on her own. She vowed silently then that Éowyn would not be alone on this journey – not if Arathell could help it.

"Tell me about her," Éowyn murmured suddenly.

Arathell didn't ask for clarification. "Kara was just a girl when her mother brought her to Imladris. Her mother, Mara, had taken me in while I had lived with the Dwarves in the Blue Mountains. Mara had lost her family to Orcs and had just birthed Kara. She was old and unfit to take care of a new baby. So, she brought her to me. I haven't really looked back, only to tell Kara stories of her real mother. But it doesn't matter to her. To her, I am her mother, just as to me, she is my daughter."

"And she is in Erebor?"

"Yes," Arathell said with a nod. "She has three children with Kili, the youngest of Thorin's nephews. The throne fell to his older brother, Fili once Thorin was slain… They are beautiful children."

Arathell and Éowyn spent the remaining portion of the morning and much of the afternoon discussing anything that came to mind. She had learned that Grima had been a snake in more ways than one and had been a figure that used to haunt Éowyn's dreams. They spoke of Boromir. They spoke of how the death of Éowyn's parents affected her and then how Celebrían's departure had changed Arathell. She had considered talking about Arwen and for some reason, she did. She did not know completely why she had opened herself that much to Éowyn, but she hadn't seemed bothered. If anything, she looked rather proud that Arathell had given her that information. Arathell hadn't even told Aragorn as much as she had told Éowyn.

"There is no one for me to tell," Éowyn had said dryly and the simplicity in her voice had made her believe that her words were truthful. Arathell couldn't see any maliciousness inside of the girl's mind either.

They sat in silence for a while, staring at the floor art that both still hadn't fixed. Given that the study wasn't used by anyone, they both knew that no one would come in to admonish the childish behavior. Arathell figured that Éowyn had earned the right to be a little childish. She was still a girl, after all, and it was wrong for the world to place all of their expectations on her to be a Woman of pride and control, like she had all of the answers.

"My brother fancies you," Éowyn mentioned after a while.

Arathell smiled briefly and ducked her head. "That's all he will be able to do, I'm afraid," she replied.

"He thinks powerful women are attractive. He likes that you fight. He won't say it, but I know that is why. He has never met someone so headstrong besides me."

Arathell cocked her head to the side. "I'm not sure what that says for his character. I suppose it is a little concerning that he admires your qualities enough to find them attractive in another."

Éowyn shrugged. "You could say that, but it isn't as unbelievable as you make it seem. We are close. I don't really have anyone else to talk to and he has raised me more than my uncle has. Once they used to think my passion was admirable and then they grew up and became protectors and knights."

"They?"

"My cousin," she explained. "We were all close."

Arathell nodded.

"I think my uncle wanted you for Éomer too," she continued.

"Yes, that was my impression as well."

"And he wanted me for Aragorn." Arathell didn't reply to that. "But it isn't so unthinkable that it would be you and Aragorn. You have known each other for so long and have traveled together and have seen the world. He doesn't know anyone but you and trusts you because you have always been by his side."

"Not always," Arathell finally muttered. "When he was young, he avoided me. He's told me that it was because he didn't want my impression of him to always be that of a little boy clumsily holding a sword."

"Still, he has always trusted you. You're everything to him."

"It is the same way for me. There is no one in this world that I trust more than him."

"What about me?"

"I don't know you well enough to trust you like that."

"No, I mean, what about me?" Arathell stared at her with confusion. "Do you think that I could find someone like you have found Aragorn?"

Arathell shrugged. "I'll tell you the same thing I told my Kara. It is more important that you know who you are before you go looking for love. Maybe Aragorn would disagree with me, but I don't care. You need someone who will fall in love with who you really are. You need to be at your most vulnerable moment when you are face to face with yourself. That is when you learn who you are and what you want. Only at that moment can the right person appear to you. They will be the ones who will love you because they have seen you at your darkest."

"You don't think that the right person should want to be with me enough to fight his way through my walls and masks?"

"Men are simple," Arathell replied easily. "They see something they desire and they will find a way to obtain it. Any Man can batter down walls and tear away masks. Women are strong and won't always let a Man in, but a Man will try if he wants it enough. The question is: will they still want you once they peel away the layers? Maybe there are some that will leave before the walls are broken. But the others? Will they like the darkness at the end of the game? Only you are hurt through it. You've been blasted apart and have been forced to remake everything because of a Man's ambitions and his disregard for your wishes. If you open yourself willingly to him, that is another matter, but how likely is that to happen? Now, if someone sees you in that moment of weakness and decides then that you are who he wants… what can be more beautiful? He marvels at your darkness and thinks that you are a miracle because here you stand alive with your darkness. Men like rawness. They like truth. They think that if they find you beautiful at your weakest, you will be the Sun at your strongest."

Éowyn pondered her words for a moment. "What was your weakest moment? When did Aragorn fall in love with you?"

Arathell scoffed. "Dear, I've been at my weakest for a long time. I had my daughter when he met me. I was probably the happiest I have ever been. But… somehow… he saw through all of my masks. Unlike other Men, I wasn't asked to dismantle all I had put together to protect myself. He saw through it without hurting me."

"How old was he?"

She flinched. "Not even three."

"And it was love?"

"No, I suspect he didn't fall in love with me until later. He fancied me just fine and then fell in love with me. He is a wise Man, to his credit. He knows better than to fall in love with anyone on sight. That is something my sister would do. He says he knew he would marry me when we met, but he didn't fall in love with me until much later. I think that it was after my daughter left. I was… alone again. I suppose that was my weakest moment. I had the world and then it was gone."

"How did she fall in love with Kili?"

"I don't know. She hasn't told me much of how her love for Kili happened. She was always a happy girl. I don't know if she ever had a weak moment for him to fall in love with. I don't know much of her journey."

They sat in silence for a while longer. "Do you think that I could find someone?" Éowyn finally breathed.

"You should be strong enough to not need anyone to complete you," Arathell answered. "You are whole on your own. Finding someone to love is merely finding someone you would rather not live without. I know that now. When I thought Aragorn had died, I wanted to die with him. But I knew that that wouldn't be what he wanted for me. And I had obligations to help Rohan, as I had promised you once. And I had my daughter who I had made my own promise to. I had to live on. Aragorn made me happier, but I could live without him, for a time at least."

"I thought Elves could die from a broken heart."

"I would die, for sure," Arathell agreed. "I knew that I had fallen into grief and that my soul would join his soon enough. I didn't know when or how, but I knew that it would happen. I merely resolved to myself that I would not go looking for death. There were things that I needed to do before dying. And I would not let my grief win over those things."

"Still," Éowyn remarked. "Do you think I could find someone? You say that Aragorn makes you happier. Do you think there is someone who could make me happier?"

Arathell smiled gently. "I don't have a very strong affinity for foresight. But if I had to guess… I would have to say that is something you will have to find out for yourself."

"Elves…" she muttered. "Gimli told me that you answer everything in the form of yes and no."

She laughed at that. "My daughter told me the same thing. Apparently Dwarves are very good at spreading such truths about my race. We must be very transparent, indeed, if Dwarves of all people can see what we are up to."

"So, you admit that your race can also be playful?" she teased.

"Quite. I've never been one for playfulness, but I don't see the harm in a laugh and a good game."

When they finally left the study they didn't bother to pick up the books that were still scattered on the floor. Arathell reasoned that even with Éowyn's spirits being lifted a little, it was still critically important for her to hold that control over what little environment she had to roam free.

* * *

 **Penny for your thoughts? I know you all have been interested in what would happen with Eowyn and Arathell, and I am happy to finally present an answer to you in this chapter. Please let me know what you think though!**

 **Check out the music! This one is particularly profound, and I would love for you all to hear it. I think that it is very much a song for both Éowyn and Arathell. Consider it another one of those themes, if you will. I know not a lot of you check out the music, but this one is a definite winner!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	68. Chapter 68

**Hello, my lovelies! Don't really have much to say this chapter, so we'll get right to it! Thanks though to those who have followed and favorited! I do see you and I appreciate your support very much! Arathell officially has 250 followers! I'm sure that makes her almost as thankful as me! Thanks!**

 **Short chapter today, but I think it's a neat one…**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Dangerous - Shinedown

"I will never be voiceless  
My weapon of choice is  
I'd rather be dangerous  
I won't be left defenseless  
As God as my witness  
I'd rather be dangerous  
Dangerous"

* * *

They arrived back when dinner was on the verge of being served and while the girl went to sit with her brother, Éowyn smiled at Arathell kindly, eyes teasingly gesturing up to Éomer who Arathell caught staring at her.

Before long, she felt fingers tugging on the ends of her hair and turned with a smile of her own to look at Aragorn who had nearly pressed his entire front into her right side. "What have you done today, meleth?"

"I've entered a friendship with Éowyn," she replied, making their way together to their seats close to the King, Aragorn taking the chair on Théoden's left with Éomer perched on the right.

"She needs a friend, I think," he approved with a nod.

"One that is at least outside of her family," Arathell agreed. "Family is the ultimate constraint sometimes. They perceive how you should be and thus limit you to those things and reject you when you attempt to go beyond those set boundaries. I understand her very well, so I thought that I would try to help her."

Aragorn gave her a look out of the corner of his eye as he filled his glass with wine before filling hers. "You've needed a friend like that too."

"I have you."

"But she understands you just as much as you understand her. Am I right to assume that she knows what happened with Arwen?" Arathell fell silent and took her glass, sipping it carefully. "I'm not angry, Arathell. You will tell me when you feel the time is right for me to know. I'm too involved in both yours and Arwen's lives. I understand that you refraining from telling me is merely you trying to protect my image of your sister. Éowyn does not know Arwen in the slightest and that makes it easier for you to talk to her about some things. Legolas is far too involved with Arwen and Gimli probably would not care to be so invested in the situation. It is simply how Dwarves are. I think you've needed Éowyn perhaps as much as she has needed you."

Arathell smiled and rested her hand over the top of his. As always, his hand rotated to clasp hers, fingers interlacing. "Thank you, Aragorn. I think you may be right. I have needed her. But… as I have told you before: you are just as important to me, if not more. I need you more than I need her. That's why I reached out to her. Because she has literally no one. She latched herself onto you because she thought you could save her and now… she just feels alone. She needs someone in the way that I need you. She needs someone to love her because of her darkness and she needs someone who can accept her for how she is. She is not like other Women who smile at anything and her thoughts are often full of pain. It will take a special Man to love her. She only worries that she will find no one."

"Do you think she will?" he asked conversationally.

She looked past him to the King who was listening to his niece and nephew. None of them were paying any attention to her and Aragorn, and she suspected that it was still because of the heated discussion they had all shared that morning about Gondor. "I know nothing for certain," she replied. "I am still of the belief that this war will kill us all and only Mordor's hordes will be happy. I do not have any inclination either way based on foresight. But something tells me… not because I have seen it, mind you… something tells me that she will at least meet someone. He might keep her happy until the end, and he may not. But there could be someone who occupies her time."

Merry, Legolas and Gimli came to sit down beside her after that, and all discussion about the White Lady of Rohan was removed from the conversation. She would talk to Aragorn about these things because he was her lover and she figured that he was allowed to know. Merry, Legolas and Gimli were another matter, and she knew that Éowyn would have wanted her horrors kept private from them.

Ahead of her and the smaller tables, she saw the four Elves, on their own as always. Amdir appeared to be trying to talk to some Men at the table beyond, but they refrained from giving detailed answers. Gorthion kept even more to himself, as always, gulping down some ale and letting it dribble on his chin without cleaning it away.

She made eye contact with him for a brief moment. He gave her a luring smile before she felt Aragorn pull her hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it. He wasn't looking at her rather he was staring ahead and looking forcefully at Gorthion. It was an act of possession and normally, it would have infuriated her, but it didn't. It wasn't that she belonged to Aragorn. It was Aragorn merely stating that only he was allowed to look at Arathell in that way and only he would be allowed to touch her.

Gorthion's smile grew and he stood from the table and stalked up to them, pressing his knuckles on the table as he leaned forward. Legolas stiffened on her left and she heard conversation disappear on her right. Aragorn's grip on her hand tightened as they both stared up at the Elf. "Yes, my lord?" she drawled, plastering boredom on her face. "What can we do for you?"

Gorthion shrugged with purpose before slowly turning his head to the King. "I merely wanted to thank His Highness for the exquisite dinner."

"Then you may return to your table." Arathell dismissed.

Gorthion looked back at her and barely covered a scoff. "It was just a statement."

"Be on your way then," Aragorn demanded. He stood up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing his thumbs as obviously into her hair as he could. It was another claim and curse her for feeling as attracted to his dominance as she did.

"Your bodyguard?" Gorthion remarked, still looking at her.

"My One, actually," she snapped. "And you had best do as he says. It is an exquisite dinner, after all, and it would be very much ruined by anyone getting hurt."

"Accidentally, of course?"

"I'd deny premeditated," Aragorn mentioned.

"As would I," Théoden suddenly said. "Accidents can happen, after all."

"You've bought yourself some impressive hounds, my lady," Gorthion continued, not at all bothered.

Arathell laughed. "No, I haven't bought them. Imagine how protective they would be if I did?"

"I like a threatening woman."

"Then it is good that I am an Elf then, isn't it? Be on your merry way before I allow an accident to happen. Actually…" Arathell stood up and pushed Aragorn's hands away from her person. "Be on your merry way before _I_ cause an accident. Who knows? Footing can be so clumsy…especially in _shadows_."

He scoffed but walked away regardless, completely out of the Hall. "I want him gone," Théoden demanded, turning to face her.

Aragorn wisely stayed silent.

Still, Arathell nodded and sat back down again calmly. "If you can convince him to leave, I will not discourage you. But I think that unless you want to lose your men to him, it would be wiser to leave him be. I meant what I said to him. Accidents can happen and swords sometimes have a mind of their own."

"You'd kill one of your own race?" she heard and looked down at Amdir. He looked frightened while Lagordir merely looked downtrodden at the events that had transpired. Brastor looked proud.

"He is no Elf," Legolas retorted from beside her. "He is an Orc in an Elf's clothing."

"I'd kill him myself if I didn't think that our Thellie would be upset at the thought of someone taking her kill," Gimli admitted. "It is no trouble for me to admit when an Elf is bad, but there are some that are truly worse than the others. He is a bad seed if I ever saw one. I pray to Mahal that there will be an accident."

Arathell nodded calmly. "Now that that is settled, let us eat."

* * *

When they retired for the evening, Arathell volunteered to take watch again to make up for the evening lost the night before. It was all too strange to think that Pippin was gone. Merry had been so quiet during dinner and had barely eaten anything. As a Hobbit, his lack of desire to eat was the most distressing thing that could have possibly happened. She supposed it shouldn't have shocked her when he asked if he could join her for guard duty.

Aragorn was hesitant, thinking that the Hobbit needed his rest, but Merry was having no part in it, and she felt quite unable to deny him anything at the moment.

They paced alongside the outer walls in the darkness. There were several torches that were lit, but Arathell's vision was fine without them. Merry didn't have any complaints either with his keen eyes, but that still could have been his sadness talking.

"He is with Gandalf," she said gently after two hours of the normally chatty Hobbit saying nothing. "I don't think there is a safer place in the world."

Merry nodded and shuffled his feet. "I only miss him."

"As you should. But you shouldn't let that rule your every move. Now isn't the time to be distracted."

"Everyone seems distracted about that Elf… Gorthion."

"You leave him to me to worry about," she hastily replied. "He will not bother you and if he does then his time with us will be done."

"You'd really kill him?"

Arathell stared down at him. His eyes were big and fearful… and disbelieving. She sighed and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Merry, I appreciate how well you think of me. I'm very lucky to have you as a friend. But one thing you must understand about me is that I am not purely good. I am on your side now and always. But I've been told that there are times where I can be a little selfish. And unfortunately, I did make the name Shadow something to be afraid of." She paused and gave him a tight smile. "I could kill anyone here if I wanted to, save Aragorn. He is the only one who has ever beaten me. Now what does that tell you about me? If Gorthion ever bothers you, I trust that you will come to me to remedy the situation. Some people are afraid to get more blood on their hands. I've never been that way."

"So it's true then?" Merry guessed and she cocked her head to side, waiting for him to elaborate. "You really are the beautifully… dark… sister."

Arathell's smile grew. "I'm definitely dark," she agreed.

"And beautiful," he rushed to add. "And you are a sister."

She sighed. "I hope people will remember me as more than a sister."

"They will," he said calmly, looking almost back to his cheerful self. "I overheard your father talking while we were still in Rivendell. He was talking to Gandalf, I think. He said that sometimes he saw your future. He said that you were happy and that you were –"

"Stop!" she snapped, clapping her hand over his mouth. "Thank you for trying to lift my spirits, but what you heard my father speak of is not for me to know. If it comes to pass, then I will learn it in my own time, and if it does not, then I will have nothing to feel disappointed about."

Merry fearlessly pushed her hand away. "I think you'd be very disappointed indeed, even without knowing everything your father said about you. You have Strider now. And I don't think you want that to go away."

She groaned. "Is there not anything better to discuss than my relations with Aragorn?"

"No. It is probably because it is such an absurd concept," another voice teased and she saw Legolas come out of the shadows with a grin. "I snuck up on you closer than you have ever snuck up on me," he continued and she thought back to their first meeting where she had said those very words to him.

She could definitely go for a strangling at the moment.

"We're not trying to pry or make you feel bad, Thellie," Merry admonished and she quite regretted talking to him at all. "We are very happy for you. Mister Bilbo said that he was waiting for this to happen. Oh, won't he be excited to know?"

Arathell exhaled loudly and stalked away, hearing them both laugh at her misery.

How long was this going to go on? She loved Aragorn truly but it seemed that aligning herself with him romantically was demoting her down to only a future wife of some high ranking political office. She wasn't even Shadow anymore, and her conversation with Merry had proved that! Now, she was only Aragorn's long-awaited lover. And as much as she loved him, that was not who she wanted to be. She strived to become something other than Arwen's sister, and at the moment, she felt like she had only traded that title to become Aragorn's Queen.

She distanced herself from the others as she took watch. She didn't feel any looming misfortune, so she allowed her thoughts to wander. With every passing moment, she could only feel herself grow angrier and angrier about the whole ordeal. She wanted to talk to Aragorn about it, but almost feared to at this point, wondering what images of love the others will conceive if they were seen. Éowyn had likely already gone to bed and it seemed almost… premature to talk to her about such frustrations. True, they knew a great deal about one another at this point, but she figured that the girl would feel rather used if Arathell only talked to her about the things that were upsetting her. It wasn't fair, and she knew that.

Arathell kicked the ground and tried to focus. Edoras was quiet, but from the top of the city, she could see people still moving around. The Elves caught her attention quickly, their bearings naturally distinguishing them from all of the others. She saw Lagordir sitting quietly in thought on the porch of one of the high lord's houses. She figured he had struck a friendship with the inhabitant.

Amdir was walking into the stables, staring up high at the wood carvings of horse heads in wonder.

Gorthion was likely hiding somewhere with a dark thought, but she didn't pay any mind.

Her eyes fell on Brastor then. He was the only one who seemed to be taking any kind of guarding privilege seriously. His hands were clasped behind his back and he stared outwards. The Men gave him worried looks, but she could easily see that he didn't even raise his shoulders for a sigh of dismay.

Nodding to herself, she began to make her way down from the top of the hill, meandering silently down the steps until she was at the bottom, in the lords' and ladies' court. Brastor stood ahead at the gate, not having moved at all. She walked forward and paused when she saw his shoulders stiffen at last.

"Shadow," he acknowledged with a slight nod, still not looking at her.

"Don't call me that," she muttered and walked the rest of the way until she was standing beside him. He didn't reply. "You're quite focused," she remarked.

"I'd rather not be caught unawares."

She chuckled a little. "I don't think that you ever could be unfocused enough for that to happen. And my observations of people are generally right." She would not tell him about her gifts. She would draw the line there. Only some of her family and Aragorn knew the extent of her healing abilities and her gift of visual truth.

He didn't seem particularly amused. "Should I call you Arathell then?" She hummed in confusion. "If I am not to refer to you as 'Shadow,' pray, tell me what shall be your title?"

"Arathell is fine," she dismissed.

"Not Duvainith?"

Tension immediately sprung into all extremities and her head nearly snapped off with how much force she used to swivel her glare to him. "You are not related to me in the slightest. That name is only to be used by those who are close to me." She pursed her lips for a moment. "I would think that an Elf of all beings would know the rules of our culture."

"If I were a member of your family, would you be called Duvainith?" he continued.

"I don't even know how you heard that that was my name," she grumbled. "Personal names are kept that way… personal."

"I know Arwen," he simplified. Her already sour mood deflated even more and Arathell felt her hands turn into tight fists. "And you did not answer the question."

"I'm not obligated to do anything."

"Why did you come down here then? If you wished to speak with me answer my question first and then we may discuss what you wish."

"I don't know if I want to discuss anything anymore," she retorted. With the strange way he was acting, she would have easily claimed that he was one of the most stubborn Elves she had ever met. "I don't even see why you are suddenly curious about my name to begin with. You have followed me for nearly a week now."

"Time would go by slower for you now, I suppose, what with you likely forsaking your immortality."

Arathell continued to glare. "Even if you were Arwen, I wouldn't allow you to call me that," she finally answered.

"Because you refuse to be labeled as the sister?" he assumed. Arathell didn't say anything. "Even your given name mentions being a sister. Every time I call you by your name, I am still calling you a sister. So why is it so horrendous for me to call you a beautifully dark one as opposed to a noble one?"

"Arathell was the name I was given when I was born," she tersely replied. "And Duvainith was the name I was… assigned… after my mother knew who I was and what I could be. She still labeled me as a sister and the rest of my family agreed, not that they had much choice. But they agreed in the way that now they refer to me as such and it stings more than my birth name ever will."

"And what would you do if I was to call you it?" he drawled. He hadn't looked at her once since she arrived to stand beside him and this only fed into her frustrations. She did not want to speak with him anymore and was beginning to question why she went down in the first place. Practically a stranger, he did not know her in the slightest – what help could he possibly offer her?

"Well, since I have expressed my displeasure at being called that now multiple times… I should think that I would hit you."

She saw the corners of Brastor's lip turn upwards. "And why would you not do the name with being referred to as nothing more than Elessar's lover?"

Arathell opened her mouth for a quick retort but fell short when he finally turned to look at her. His words were poignant and they had already been circulating in her head for some time now. But having those thoughts vocalized made the idea that much more acceptable. He agreed with her and now made her feel almost silly for wondering what to do about it.

"I should also think that since you have so fully proved yourself to the people of Rohan that you are more than Shadow – one of their oldest legends – you can prove to your comrades that you are more than a lover and especially more than a sister." Arathell realized her mouth was hanging open, still in shock and made quick to right herself and looked back to the gate with as much coolness as she could muster. Brastor sighed. "Now that we have remedied yet another one of your dreadful insecurity problems, you can go back to your sulking. There is no need for two of us to stand watch here."

Arathell found herself nodding, like she was a child being reprimanded by her grandfather. When she turned to walk away though, she paused to look at him. "'Yet another?'"

"I just told you that I know Arwen," he said dryly. "Your sister means well, you know. She has room in her heart to love anyone… unlike you and me. I have yet to come to a conclusion as to which state is better: love everyone a little, or only love a few with everything in your soul."

"How do you know my sister?" she drawled carefully. "You are but a warrior; how would she become acquainted with you?"

Brastor nodded, clearly expecting the question. "During her stay in Lothlórien, she was appointed guards sometimes. I was most often appointed to accompany her."

"Not Gorthion?" she demanded suddenly, the thought of that Elf being anywhere near her sister making her stomach churn distastefully.

"I was hand-picked by the Lady of Light. Gorthion never encountered your sister."

She released a sigh of relief before her thoughts swirled back to their conversation. "You don't think she can love with her soul?" she asked.

"I think that if there was anyone she did love in that way, it would be you, your father and brothers, and Legolas. Or rather, I think she wants to love you as much as them. She has told me that sometimes it is hard to love people who so blatantly throw her to the wind."

"I have never done that," she argued. "Arwen is much more powerful than anyone could ever know, even me. The thoughts she conceives are as deep as the holes the Dwarves climbed out of. Or maybe," she said with a laugh. "Her thoughts are as high as the Evening Star, and mine are as deep as the holes."

"She is afraid of you."

"I'm afraid of her," she admitted, only now realizing it to be true. She kept her mask calm but bowed her head and left Brastor without saying anything else.

Arathell found her way back up to the ledge as she contemplated her revelation. Arwen was, indeed, powerful. Hope was powerful and she might as well have been the Queen of it. She was like Varda, a heroine of the stars and the creator of that light. She shone and smiled and was burning with love that could only pray to reach the far away ground Arathell was standing on.

Arathell supposed that she, herself, was much more like Nienna. A reclusive member of the Valar with sorrows that ran deeper than the pools of tears she had made. She kept to herself and pondered every hurt, wondering if they could ever be healed.

This was why Arwen scared her. Varda stood for everything that Nienna couldn't. Varda had her love shining even now; it was physical proof of love. Nienna stood away and watched without hope. Arwen's love and hope and faith scalded Arathell to the touch. It wasn't that she was loveless, but loving came harder for her. She was powerful in her family – there was no doubt about that – but it was a power that she had commanded for herself. She carved that seat and fashioned it to her liking. Varda was the wife of the greatest of the Valar, and not for desire of power, but for love.

Arwen was an emotional threat and made Arathell uneasy. She was harder to understand because there were fewer and fewer ways now for Arathell to be able to relate to her at all. They came from different worlds.

Arathell straightened herself on the ledge and drew her lips tight. She and she sister were the most powerful women in the world after Galadriel. It was a battle always to see which one of them came second after their grandmother. But even still, she told herself with a resolute smile. Varda may twinkle high in her heavens, but it was Nienna who sent Gandalf.

Both powerful creatures indeed.

* * *

 **Alrighty, there's the chapter! You didn't think we'd be getting away from those dreadful insecurity problems of Arathell's, did ya? And thoughts of Arwen make a reappearance! Interesting.**

 **Please leave a review?**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	69. Chapter 69

**Hey there! Hope everything is going well for you guys! I missed quite a few of you this week! No worries though. I know that life can get extremely busy. On that note, I know that a couple of you reviewed, and I know that I haven't gotten around to responding to those just yet. We had people coming in from out of town this week and it has really eaten away at my time. So forgive me. I will try to respond to you three tomorrow. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

My Champion - Alter Bridge

"May this be your victory song  
A song for you when I am gone  
Reminding you of what you're meant to be  
A gift to bring you clarity  
To show you that your destiny  
Is not defined by what you've failed to see

* * *

 **March 11, 3019 – Edoras**

When she woke, she noticed that she hadn't been moved from the ledge, having somehow collapsed to the stony ground, leaning against the wall of the Golden Hall.

And while her neck ached a little from the awkward positioning, Arathell was grateful that she hadn't been disturbed in the night. The only one brave enough to wake her would have been Aragorn, and the last thing she needed at the moment was to be led away by her lover to go to bed.

She sighed and pressed her hand to her forehead as she contemplated what she was going to do. Brastor had been absolutely correct with all of his statements last night. Letting her be solely identified as Aragorn's lover was as wrong as being solely identified as Arwen's younger sister. She had pushed her way through the latter barrier the most, only to be caged in by another.

Arathell groaned at the thought.

No matter how displeasing this new, solitary label was, fixing it was paramount. The people of Rohan already knew her mostly for her defense of their country. They knew Shadow and they knew Strider. Meeting Arathell and Aragorn took some adjusting, but their preconceived notions of their alter egos had fortunately given them enough of a divide in the people's minds to still be able to distinguish between the two of them. In fact, she believed that Rohan looked at her relationship with Aragorn as something that simply made sense and it was obvious. Indeed, it was.

Convincing those closest to her was now the problem, and it was what she was most nervous for, truthfully. Their opinions of her were more highly valued than Rohan's. Each of her companions either knew Aragorn's long-lasting love for her and of her obliviousness or they saw instantly Aragorn's attachment to her and made their own conclusions about the two of them. The Hobbits and Gimli, for instance, most likely met the two of them and only assumed that they were two halves of a whole and associated them that way. Aragorn only stood out from the two of them because he was the rightful King of Gondor and the last King of Men.

This was the nicer thing about her relationship with Boromir. He never projected a title onto her except titles of love – at least in the beginning of their courtship. It was all flattery mixed with poems and passion.

The relationship she now had with Aragorn was, of course, more potent. However, on the other side of the coin, they had bypassed the flattery and fell into a routine as if they were made to do it. It was safe and comforting and while she loved feeling that way, a part of her missed the flattery. A part of her wanted the flirting back. And the whole part of her wished that the others were just as ignorant of Aragorn's feelings as she had been. It would have added to the suspense, and maybe they wouldn't have meshed her reputation and status into his as quickly.

If Arathell was going to be his Queen… she would rather be called _Gondor's_ Queen. Her influence and ladyship should not be so shadowed by the things that Aragorn has done. She was incredibly proud of him and there would be no Man greater than him in her eyes. She loved him, and that meant that she wished for his success. But she had been independent for so long now that the idea of being shackled to a name, King's name or not, was somewhat frightening.

Arathell sighed, knowing that this was something she would need to discuss with Aragorn. She had barely seen him yesterday, and even with her fierce independence, she missed him.

Deciding to at least find him was her first task, and Arathell stood from the ground and straightened her day-old clothing out.

After a much needed bath, Éowyn was kind enough to loan her a blue gown, light as the sky. She fought a grimace and almost asked for something that was greyer or even black. Éowyn seemed to understand, however, and only gestured to her own person. She was wearing a dark green dress and she held her chin high with a daring threat in her blue eyes. "I am not the White Lady today, and you will not be Shadow," she ordered with a nod.

Maybe Arathell was amused by the Woman ordering her around as if she could actually control her. Or maybe she was, in her own way, intimidated enough by Éowyn's demeanor that she succumbed.

Regardless of why she agreed to the dress, Arathell left Éowyn's chambers in search of Aragorn.

She found him around in the Great Hall, casually eating his breakfast with Legolas and Gimli. Both of them were staring at the Dwarf ruefully while Gimli made no effort to monitor his table manners.

She couldn't help but smile at the scene and walked up to the table calmly. Sitting down next to Aragorn, she was caught in the same spiral as the two of them and began watching the Dwarf. "Good morning," she finally drawled, snapping them all out of their reverie. Aragorn gave her a smile and leaned over to kiss her temple, just below her circlet.

It was a reminder that she was even wearing it. Yes, she took it off every now and again, but putting it on had become routine and she barely acknowledged the piece of jewelry anymore. Remembering now that it was there was comforting and conveyed in its own way that she was truly independent enough and that she had a right to wish to be looked at as more than Aragorn's lover.

"How was your watch?" Legolas asked in a teasing tone and she glared at him with boredom.

"Quite alright, thank you."

"I thought about waking you but –" Aragorn began.

"No, do not be sorry. I was quite alright," she interrupted. "I quite like being on my own. It gives me time to think." They were all silent, but Aragorn was staring at her blankly. Despite the vacant expression, she knew well enough that he was pondering her words. His lips rubbed against each other before his bottom lip protruded a little in a pout once he had evidently reached his conclusions. "Has there been any news?" she continued, taking a slice of bread and nibbling on it a little.

"Reports come from Gondor mostly," Aragorn replied simply. "They say that for the moment, all is quiet around Minas Tirith. We have yet to hear anything on Osgiliath, but the outlook is not optimistic. If the city hasn't already been taken, then I assume that it will be within the next few days."

"And nothing further on Gandalf and Pippin?" Aragorn shook his head. "Or Frodo and Sam?" Another shake. Arathell sighed. "Well then that is optimistic enough. If anything had been heard of them, it would more than likely be a boast coming from Mordor." They all nodded. "Where is Merry?"

"He stayed awake for most of the night on watch," Legolas replied. "He was quite tired. I believe he went to bed only a few hours ago. I wouldn't expect to see him before his afternoon tea."

"That late?" she remarked playfully, taking a sip of juice. They all nodded and smiled softly. "Was he faring any better when he finally retired? He was missing Pippin quite dreadfully yesterday."

"He was very quiet during the watch," Aragorn answered gently. "I have spoken with him, but it seems that this may be the one area where Hobbits are not so hardy. He and Pippin were already feeling quite dejected with Frodo and Sam being gone, and now Pippin is being sent straight into danger. He's very proactive, Merry is. I worry that he thinks he is useless here."

"What can he do though?" Gimli grumbled. His face was sad as he considered the Halfling. "What can any of us do here? Maybe he is right. Except maybe we're all just as useless as he is."

"Gondor will send for Rohan soon enough," Aragorn eased.

She stared at him out of the corner of her eye and pursed her lips for a moment. "Do we know that for sure? Denethor sits as Steward of Gondor and that Man is nothing if not proud and arrogant. It is possible that he thinks himself able to combat the forces of Mordor. And even if he does not, it is likely that he knows of you, Aragorn. Maybe even of Boromir's passing, as we sent him away on the Anduin. And let us suppose that he does ask for Rohan to assist. Théoden has not made any effort to assure us that Rohan will go to their aid."

"He will," Aragorn disagreed. "Preservation is everything now."

"Yes, but maybe he thinks his people will live longer if he sits and waits," she argued.

"Arathell," he murmured. "I know it may seem uncertain to you, but I am confident that the King will make the right decision when the time arrives. Gandalf has done too much, and we likewise have done too much for this country for them to turn away now. Whether for the right reasons or no, he will ride to Gondor."

She traded glances with both Legolas and Gimli, both sighing in resignation with their doubts still firmly intact. Arathell could only nod solemnly.

They finished their breakfast in silence, even Gimli too deep in his thoughts to devour his food too quickly.

Once Arathell was done, she turned a little towards Aragorn and watched him until he was finished. He undoubtedly knew she was staring, but neither of them made a comment about it. He ate calmly and without the tension that she and the others possessed about his hope. Legolas probably agreed with him the most out of the three but she knew that even the Elf had his concerns.

Aragorn pushed aside his empty plate and finally turned to look at her. She stood, keeping eye contact with him and waited as he climbed to his feet as well.

They nodded their heads toward the other two and began walking outside. He let her lead, and for that she was grateful. Arathell also noticed that he did not attempt to take hold of her hand, and even that comforted her a little. She was still determined to discuss their relationship with him and what it meant to the others, and even if she wouldn't have pushed his hand away, she was thankful that he wasn't trying to dominate her every action with his touch.

Arathell led him outside of the city, and both nodded in greeting to the guards and began making their way around the great fence. "What are you troubled about?" he asked when they came to a plain, grassy hill.

She shrugged a little and sat down on the grass, weaving her hands in and out of the tall blades, smiling a little as they bent with her touch. She felt rather than saw Aragorn sit down beside her. "How do you view me, Aragorn?" she suddenly asked, quiet and resigned. He did not reply but she still did not look at him. "Am I your Queen? Am I your lover? Am I your friend? Or am I – simply put – yours?"

"I don't think that I could ever own you in the way you are suggesting," he answered carefully.

Arathell nodded. "Quite right."

"We have spoken of this already; why are we talking about it again?"

Again, she shrugged. "Though you do not see me as being a possession that you keep, and though I know you never would either, it seems that this is what I have become." At his silence, she turned her head to look at him, seeing his face twisted in confusion and staring blatantly at her for clarification. "I have spent all of my life being Arwen's younger sister. I may also be the younger to my brothers, but Duvainith is more in reference to Arwen. We are meant to… complete one another. She is the star and I am the darkness." He nodded. "Well, it would seem that I have finally broken my shackles and am no longer looked at as solely her younger sister. Now, I appear to be labeled as your woman and your Queen and – simply put…" she drawled, cocking her head at him with an unfortunate smile.

"Mine," he finished. Arathell nodded and looked back at the grass, twirling it in her fingers like Aragorn would do with her hair. "You feel as though you have lost your standing and your individuality with Rohan by being with me."

"Not with Rohan," she immediately retorted. "Within our own Fellowship and with Théoden, I am only your long-awaited lover. I'm not even Shadow, or even Duvainith. I'm the future wife of Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I'm nothing but your figurehead."

"Gandalf does not look at you this way, and you have to know that I do not either," he assured, reaching to rest his hand on top of hers which was furiously twiddling on the blade of grass now.

"You don't and I know this," she agreed, not turning her hand to take his. She assumed that he understood her silent rejection because he moved quickly in front of her and placed his hands on both sides of her face. The question was burning in his eyes, along with a hundred others. "Gandalf has known for a long time that you and I would be together like this," she said softly. "He still sees me, but I think now he sees me as someone who will eventually be married and will help rule a kingdom. At the moment, I am the trivial thing that comes before it."

His lips pursed as they always did when he was thinking and he looked away for a moment. His eyes found their way back to hers and she noticed with great surprise that they were slightly wet. Fear was shimmering in the grey pools. "What do you need from me then?"

"Are you worried I will push you away again?" she stated. He retreated a little and made the move to pull his hands from her face but she put her hands on top of his and leaned in to capture his lips. His lips were hungry, desperately looking for approval and for a sense of security. Even more surprised, Arathell pulled away and looked at him with shock. "What have I done to you to make you not trust me? You are genuinely afraid that I could push you away again. You don't trust that I am staying."

"How you are identified by others has always been too important to you," he replied. The wetness was gone, and even a hint of anger was present in his smoldering gaze. "You always have to be labeled as more than something else."

"Because I have been in Arwen's shadow for all of my life, Aragorn; you know that."

"Only you see yourself in her shadow!" he snapped. Aragorn stood up and began pacing. "Comparing the two of you will never be entirely fair. You have already stated that you are different enough from each other to complete each other. How can you compare two people who are so different? The statement will always be the same: you will never be her and she will never be you. Don't you think that she envies what you have become?" Arathell froze and stared up at him, words locked behind her teeth. "You have broken free from only being a Lady of Imladris. You don't embroider and you don't stare out your window waiting for the world to happen. You have fought and clawed your way to where you are and you were brave enough to do it, even with the world denying you. Don't you think that she wishes she could be more like you? Your people may smile and laugh with her, but they would hurriedly stand behind you when trouble comes because they trust you."

"We have gotten away from the subject," she muttered and rose to her feet, dusting the blue gown off.

Aragorn's hand suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. For a moment, she was afraid and she felt her hand fumble for the sword that was not there, completely out of instinct. "No, you will listen to me," he growled and she froze completely. "You have told me that I have been afraid of what I am for as long as I have been alive. Boromir said that I have hidden in the shadows, and you agreed. And here you stand, guilty of the same crime. Except you hide in the shadows of what you believe people think of you. You are different from Arwen and you are not her. But people follow you and believe in you. Why can that not be enough? Why can being with me not be enough? Are you not happy; is that it?"

"I am happy, Aragorn," she whispered. "I just want people to see me for my deeds and what I do, not for who I am related to or who I love."

"Foolish Woman," he murmured back and pushed his head hard against hers. "You alone could have the world bending its knee to you. The Dwarves of Erebor, the wealthiest kingdom on this earth would run to your aid if you asked them to. The people of Rohan revere you more than their own horses and the names of their fathers. You've spat in a Wizard's face. Arathell, you command the world." She stared at him. "You are recognized as being my Queen not because I have made you a possession but because you would have me on my knees waiting for your command if you asked it of me. I may be a King, but I listen more to my Queen than anyone else in this world. Don't you understand how much power you hold? And it is yours because of who you are and what you have done to garner the respect of those around you."

"Brastor said –"

"He told you it was a dreadful insecurity problem," he interrupted.

Her eyes widened. "How did you -?"

"You think that you are the only one who has spoken with them? You think I am the only one who thinks that you misinterpret people's regards of you? You have your gift of visual truth and yet you choose to see yourself this way."

"Before…" she mentioned and noticed that he was actually going to allow her to get a word in. "Before, when we left Helm's Deep, you agreed with me. You agreed when I said that my family had allowed mud to be thrown at me and that I was a blemish."

His face softened and the hand that was holding her arm reached to trace her jawline. "I agreed that you had a right to be proud of who you are. And maybe you are a blemish but that wouldn't be because you have done anything wrong. It would be because you chose to be different from your family and maybe they are the ones who wish that they could be more like you." She looked away. "You were never born to be an Elf, and that is why you're different. You're a Woman and a Woman with a dream is more beautiful and more powerful than any Elf with a hope. You're assertive and determined but very insecure. It doesn't make sense. You are the Queen of everything and you worry that others won't see you for what you do."

Arathell found herself grinning. She supposed that tears of joy wouldn't have been unheard of, but her mind couldn't keep up with all of the swirling emotions to remember to cry. All she could feel was proud and even a little arrogant of the position Aragorn gave her. "I'm more than I thought."

"And you're more than me."

Arathell shook her head, still smiling wider now. "I'm only me and you are only you. You're right. But together we are…"

"Everything."

"Everything."

He smiled. "I love you."

"I love you." Her wide smile suddenly turned into a smirk and she wrapped her arms around his neck loosely. "And I have control over you, do I?" she teased.

"Damn."

* * *

 **March 12, 3019 – Edoras**

She sat next to him, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Maybe she wasn't being as discreet as she would have liked to believe, but even if she wasn't, it didn't matter.

Aragorn was a Man she had come to understand and yet he could still surprise her without even trying. Arathell couldn't help but wonder if she was the same to him.

Since their discussion, she had ignored any words that pinned her identity down to his. Since their discussion, she decided that it didn't matter anymore. The rest of her life was tethered to him along with her heart. It wouldn't have been such a leap to tether even her reputation to him, additionally her identity. She didn't have to be looked at as the lonely warrior with anger in her heart. She could be seen as the one that Aragorn son of Arathorn loved. She was looked at with respect, love, and endless support. He had been right. People did notice her for her actions and they were happy that she and Aragorn had found one another. She was deemed worthy to be with him, and he was deemed worthy to be with an Elf of her high status. There was no greater compliment.

"You're staring," he commented, taking out his pipe to push some dried leaves in it.

She scrunched her nose at the habit. The smell of burning plants, dead or alive, was never very pleasant to her. "I wish you would stop with your smoking," she grumbled, shifting a little on the step.

They were in the city today, lounging in front of one of the shops. Inside, she could smell a not-so-subtle aroma of bread mingled with various spices. Arathell never would have guessed that Rohan was wealthy enough for anything extravagant, and she didn't know how much a loaf like that would cost – buying or making. Maybe everyone thought that it didn't matter anymore. Money was immaterial when it came to the end of the world and it was better to die with a full belly than starving like a beggar.

"You may command me, meleth, but I will have my pipe until the day I die," he replied.

Arathell sighed with exasperation, rolling her eyes. She stared out at the dirt road. People weren't as dismal as they were when she had first come to Edoras. She could still see the fear and the hopelessness in their minds, but feelings such as those resided in the back of their thoughts. In front of her, she could see smiles. Children who were too young to understand the gravity of the world were playing with dolls and parents were watching on with humble smiles. The elderly, some still stricken with grief, were even able to recline in their rocking chairs and tilt their heads toward the sun reverently with their tired eyes closed.

It was true that there were not many left of this decimated nation, but there were survivors. And even buried in their grief, they took the day to have peace. Many probably thought that they would see their lost loved ones soon enough and would at least enjoy what little time was left on this earth.

Whatever the reason for their peace, Arathell was happy to be a part of it.

She looped her arm with Aragorn's and dropped her temple onto his shoulder. Arathell felt him look down at her, and she could practically feel the shock emanating from him. She had never initiated such affectionate contact with him before in front of so many people. She had always been anxious as to what rumors would spread. Now, she found that she didn't care anymore. Let the world stare. Maybe the world would smile.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured softly.

She stared at the pipe in his hand, observing the domesticity of it, used for the simple desire to smoke. It was without fear or any agenda. It was done because he wanted to smoke.

"Do you think that it would be like this?" she answered. He didn't reply, silently asking her to elaborate. "If we did live, I mean. If Sauron was defeated and we were the King and Queen of Gondor, do you think that we would be able to look out of our window and see this? Would the people be happy like Rohan is now? Would we hear laughter and see the peace on everyone's faces? Is this what it would be like?"

He switched his pipe to his other hand and took hold of hers, tying their arms together more. "I think it would be exactly like this," he replied tenderly.

Arathell smiled and tilted her head up to look at him fully. His smile was gentle and she could see the warmth and love in his eyes. She loved it when he looked at her like that. That look made her feel more alive and more safe than she had ever felt in her life. Thousands of years older than him and those cool, grey eyes could silence any demon in her soul.

"Good." There weren't any better words and she knew she didn't need to explain.

They sat that way in silence for some time, both lazily drawing patterns on the skin of the other with light fingers. "I haven't seen much of Erkenbrand," she commented suddenly.

Aragorn shrugged against her, and she heard him take another draw from his pipe. "He sits with the King mostly, from what I have observed. Éomer stays close beside them both as well. I suspect that we will see more of him once Gondor calls for aid. He led the Riddermark at the battle of Helm's Deep along with Éomer. He has his status with his troops and will probably be charged to his own battalion to gather more."

"We should be gathering more now," she mentioned dryly. "Being so spread out will only make it easier for the Enemy to blow through Rohan. We give him no challenge being divided. And Gondor will need our haste."

"You know Théoden will not listen."

"Do you know if Erkenbrand and Éomer agree with him?"

"If they don't, they are being quiet about it," he answered disappointedly. "Théoden has sat in the shadows for so long now, it is possible that his action is stunning everyone into obedience. And even if they are challenging him, Théoden is still freshly recuperating from everything Grima had done to poison his mind. He won't take counsel happily, if he takes it at all."

Arathell pursed her lips. "Gandalf would be able to convince him."

"Gandalf could not even convince him to ride against Saruman. Riding out to Mordor and all of Sauron's hordes would be met with even greater resistance."

She sighed. "You're right."

He relaxed only slightly. "All we can do is wait for the word from Gondor. If force is the only thing he will respond to –"

"You will leave it to me," she interrupted. "You are in a precarious situation, Aragorn." Arathell pulled back and stared at him with anxiousness. "People will either accept you fully or will reject you completely. Right now, you have their favor. If you do anything to convince the people of Rohan that your intentions are not for this country's best interests, they will turn against you and will refuse to do anything on behalf of their King. These people are not anything if they are not loyal. Théoden has done honorably by them and they will recognize him before they consider you. I, however, have no such ties. And I am a woman. They will not be so furious with me, and I may at least be able to rally some. Théoden has been without a woman in his life long enough, and I know my way around men. I had Thorin Oakenshield, the most stubborn of Dwarves, executing my _requests._ A King of Men shall be no bother."

"I'm no bother?" he teased, and she playfully shoved him.

"Even less of a bother because I'm your One."

"Cruel Woman."

"Your Woman," she reminded.

"Quite like the sound of that."

"Well, you better. It is quite a privilege I am giving you to call me that."

He was giving her that look again.

* * *

 **Another kind of filler chapter. I am sorry for that and wish that I could be more into the plot, but Arathell's personal growth is quite important to me, and we do need to have time to let it shine out a little more. Plus, this chapter did have some romance in it, which is something that we haven't had for a while, so there's that, right?**

 **Please leave a review?**

 **Check out the music! This is a relatively new song from, you guessed it, my favorite band. Very motivating and incredible, so for anyone who could use a pick-me-up, this song does wonders!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	70. Chapter 70

**Hello, lovelies! Thanks for the reviews! It was nice to see some old faces again (cough cough First Mate and Navigator…) SPEAKING OF OUR LOVELY NAVIGATOR! WickedGreene13 has been working long and hard on making a trailer for this massive fic! It has recently been posted on YouTube, and I know that she would absolutely LOVE it if you guys would go and check it out and give her the love that she so obviously deserves for her stunning work! Honestly, it was beyond anything that I could have pictured – so perfect! SO PLEASE GO ON YOUTUBE AND LOOK UP "The Beautifully Dark Sister – Fanfic Trailer"! It is amazing!**

 **Otherwise we, continue! Thanks for the support! Sorry for another somewhat short chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

The Hanging Tree - James Newton Howard

"Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where I told you to run,  
So we'd both be free.  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree"

* * *

 **March 15, 3019 – Edoras**

The last days had been the pure definition of bliss. Arathell could not recall a time where she had been so… at peace. She had been happy with her daughter and with her family in Erebor. But this was very different. There were still threats, and she spoke with Aragorn about them often. But it almost felt that she and the rest of Edoras were hidden away, in a place where they would never be found. It was as if there would be no evil strong enough to come after this home. It was different from the beauty of Imladris. There, everyone was growing sadder with the foreknowledge of the world's doom. Old souls were always darker in nature than the souls of Men.

Everyone here was good at pretending that there was nothing wrong. Here at Edoras, they were sheltered from the storm. Having faced no direct sign of the trauma in the outer world since Helm's Deep, they didn't even have anything to really remind them.

Of course, there were plenty of families that had lost their loved ones. But she had already made the distinction with Men: their grieving periods were never long. Warriors were buried with high honor and then laughter would come a moment later. At least this was the custom in Rohan.

And even though Arathell had been to Minas Tirith and other Gondorian cities before, she couldn't help but wonder how the people there grieved. She imagined it being different, what with Mordor just at their doorstep. But they were still Men, so maybe there was a resemblance to Rohan, after all.

That afternoon, Arathell had meandered through the city, talking briefly with some – mostly the elders. She found their takes on wisdom very enlightening. Only with decades under their belts, they were revered by the Rohirrim. They supposedly had all of the answers and nothing could surprise their milky eyes. Their words would hiccup over each other often, sometimes paused for a coughing spell, but their words fell with surety and an ancient form of strength. Many of them couldn't acknowledge that she was older than all of them by more than double their lifetimes. Their tired eyes likely couldn't see her pointed ears, but they made comments about a strange ethereal glow that seemed to follow her around. They couldn't figure why that was.

She also had come to play chess with an old Man every now and then. He was a mute and didn't have any family. In fact, he was said to be the oldest Man in all of Rohan, but no one knew his age. She wondered if he was older than Aragorn. More than once, she wished she knew his name. Maybe there were records somewhere in Meduseld.

But he was gentle enough, if not terribly cunning at chess. People said that no one had ever beaten him. When she first sat down to play with him, she considered letting him win, but decided against it almost just as the first thought came into her head. She beat him in the end, drawing it out. They had garnered an audience, and when she had won, they all gasped around her. The Man had beamed and kissed her squarely on the lips. Evidently, he had wanted to be beaten at least once. She couldn't blame him – getting beat was the only way vigor could be maintained. Sparring with Aragorn would not be nearly as fun if she beat him all of the time.

Nevertheless, she had decided that the Man would win all games henceforth. When she told Aragorn, he had laughed and had given her a kiss to get rid of the dry, leathery taste that had not left her mouth. The Man may have been mute, but he still had control over his tongue – surprisingly strong would be her description.

Now, Arathell was resting inside of Meduseld, sitting pleasantly with Éowyn for a while. Their friendship had grown over the last days, and while neither of them had bothered to pick up the books in the abandoned study, they sat there often and laughed about times long since passed. They had even sparred every now and then, and Arathell had been pleasantly surprised by the girl's skill with a blade.

Today though, they sat in the great hall, eating their lunches contentedly. The Elves, Gorthion included this time, had also joined them, along with Merry. The Hobbit had struck a joyful friendship with Amdir, who rather loved hearing all of the tales Merry had to offer.

It was no secret however, that Merry had formed an even deeper connection with Théoden himself. He gladly would entertain the King with similar stories and would look worried when Théoden would pace. He had told Arathell that he wished that there was something he could do. Pippin was off doing great deeds for Gondor, and all Merry had to apparently offer were stories of pranks and games gone wrong.

"When do you guess we will be hearing from Gondor?" Lagordir remarked, ladling a small scoop of the potato soup.

"Any day, I would think," Arathell replied, taking a less graceful taste of her own soup.

"Supposing that Mithrandir arrived safely," Gorthion grumbled, already having pushed away a bowl of full soup. Honestly, she didn't know why he even bothered to serve himself anything.

"With Pippin!" Merry added.

"Not to worry, little friend," Amdir chuckled. "Mithrandir is not so easily defeated, and if only a couple of your tales are true of your other friend, I am sure they are safe."

"Then why have we not heard from them?" Brastor demanded.

"I assume that a plan was not formed upon his arrival, Brastor," Éowyn said dryly.

"What do you think your uncle will do once Gondor calls for aid?" Merry asked quietly. They all cast a look to the King who was going over plans with Éomer. Arathell could hazard a guess as to what those plans were meant for, but she remained silent. "I have often watched the King, and I see that his brow is weary. It must be hard having the fate of an entire country on one's shoulders. But he does know that we must ride to Gondor, yes? I cannot tell by the sight of him, but he is a good Man, and a Man with principles. He knows to help, doesn't he?"

"What would your Old Took do?" Amdir asked with a smile.

"He would already have left," Merry answered without a moment lost.

Even Gorthion smiled at that.

Éowyn cleared her throat a little, resting her spoon on the bowl. "My uncle is very familiar with loss," she answered solemnly. "He understands the worries of all of Rohan's citizens so well, because they are his own worries. But I think he knows that there is not much more that this country can lose. Crops won't matter because we'd all have perished by the time harvesting would be occurring. Trading with other places isn't so important because other places are occupied with battles of their own. So, I would hope that he would give Rohan the ending she deserved."

"A King's niece indeed," Gorthion muttered. "Stop dancing with politics and give the Halfling your belief. What will the King do?"

Éowyn frowned.

"I don't think any of us can claim actual knowledge about that until the decision is thrust upon him," Arathell answered for her. "Look at him; it is obvious that he does not know what his plan is yet."

Arathell continued to stare at him even after the conversation departed from the grimmer topic in favor of something from the Shire. Her gift picked the mind of the King, evaluating every variable he presented just as he was doing at that moment. Conflict was flowing high in his mind, and the scales were bouncing back and forth too fast for either of them to see which side would weigh heavier. Variables and their weights were likely not even known.

She continued to watch him, weighing everything in her own mind. The answer was simple to her and it had somehow even been simpler to Aragorn. With every passing day, his anxiousness had grown, and it was all that she could do to calm his frayed nerves. He wanted to leave, with or without Théoden and he was getting antsy. She prayed to the Valar that some resolution would come about soon, if not for her sake, then most definitely for his.

Éomer left Théoden's side after another ten minutes and the King got up without pause and walked to another table with his generals, looking at their plans.

She sighed, noticing that she had taken a strand of her hair and was twirling it incessantly. Throwing the piece of hair down, Arathell clasped her hands together, only now seeing that Legolas and Gimli had joined them at their table.

Still, she turned her focus back to the King, using her gift to the fullest of its ability, practically trying to solve the problem for him to see the answer. She knew it was hopeless; he couldn't see her fiddling with his mind, and she was no better at predicting what course of action he would take. Foresight was a gift for her elders, not her.

As if the Valar had heard her, the slamming of the doors snapped her to attention. "The beacons of Minas Tirith!" Aragorn yelled. "The beacons are lit!" He skidded to a halt in the middle of the hall. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Arathell's hand fell into Éowyn's instantly with both of them squeezing the other's hand tightly as they waited. It seemed like an eternity to wait and the world froze.

"And Rohan will answer!" Théoden finally declared. "Muster the Rohirrim!"

The sigh of the relief was heard throughout the entire chamber, but it was passed over quickly as everyone set about preparations to leave.

Arathell let go of Éowyn's hand and stood, going to Aragorn immediately. They threw arms around one another, both sighing in relief over the decision. "We're going, Aragorn," she said, trying her best to conceal her breaking voice. There was no reason really to be crying, but for some reason, that was all she felt like doing.

"We're going home," Aragorn comforted back, kissing her temple.

That's why she wanted to cry.

* * *

The Men of Rohan were impressing her, yet again. Just as quickly as they had prepared to leave for Helm's Deep, it seemed they were moving even faster to leave for war in Gondor.

Éomer had been moving ceaselessly since his uncle had made his decree. And even Éowyn was rushing around the Golden Hall with tasks to be accomplished. All of the generals were flocking to and fro on their horses, calling out to certain riders. They all left in intervals, each group going off in different directions to collect warriors from other parts of the country.

Arathell wished that she could do more, but there was nothing that she or the others could do. They held no status in Rohan and were not in a position to call other parts of Rohan to them. In peace, they admired her and Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship. Now, Rohan's eyes were solely for their leaders, executing every order with haste and running back to their generals for more instruction.

In the distance, she could see Merry speaking with Théoden. She and the others passed into the stables just as Merry knelt down.

She smiled at the thought of the Hobbit finally "doing his part." Arathell hoped that there would be a day where he would realize that he had been doing that for a long time now.

Arathell approached Hasufel with a smile and the horse looked almost bored with her. "I know, mellon," she murmured. "It is hard leaving such a comfortable home, but we have places to be."

Aragorn had already mounted Brego and was out of the stables but the time she joined him. They watched a ways from the commotion, standing close together. Legolas and Gimli already sat on Arod and the Elves had found their mounts from their excursion to Isengard. That seemed years ago now.

Éowyn emerged from the stables with her own horse, already packed. "You'll ride with us?" Aragorn asked her as she prepared to mount.

"Just to the encampment," she hastily replied, consumed with her task. "It's tradition for the Women of the Court to farewell the Men." Arathell saw the sword peeking out from some of the baggage, but she made no comment of it. Aragorn didn't either, but she was less sure if he saw it as well. "The Men have found their Captain, I think," she mentioned.

"Which of us are you referring to?" Arathell teased, watching Éowyn finally mount her beast.

"Why, of course, that would be the Queen of Gondor," the girl retorted playfully.

"Future Queen," she corrected.

Aragorn waved a hand with a smile of his own. "I see no difference."

Éowyn smiled for only a moment and then looked at Aragorn resolutely. "Rohan will follow you into battle, and even into death if you ask it of them. You have given us hope."

She rode off a moment later, throwing herself into the throng of warriors who barely batted an eyelash. "She carries a sword, did you see?" Arathell asked.

"She always has the excuse of not wanting to be unarmed on the road," Gimli replied. "A wise lass. I rather like her. I always have. She has a fire in her, that's for sure. And I should think that if I am to fight alongside Men and Elves, a Woman would be of no great misfortune. You've brought us great luck, Arathell. One more Woman would likely prove even better."

"It probably would be best to not say such things when her brother or her uncle is present," Legolas remarked, barely turning to look at the Dwarf behind him.

"Women ought to be treated as jewels, granted," Gimli continued, barely noticing Legolas' interjection. "In my race, they are quite outnumbered. But that only makes them more precious and more commanding over the whims of our men. If ever comes the day where they realize just how much power they command over us, we would be doomed. That being said, I think that since they can command us so, if they truly wanted to live by the sword, then it would not grieve us too terribly. We are Dwarves, after all. And all Dwarves are stout of heart and quick to protect those they are loyal to." Arathell nodded in agreement. "Why, our own Lady Kara is said to fire arrows that travel further than the Elves."

"That's not quite true," Arathell interrupted. "In fact, I remember Prince Kili being more successful than her in that venture."

"Nonsense," Gimli snapped. "My point is that if the girl here has a desire to protect the people she cares about then she has already mastered half of what it takes to be a warrior."

"Many fear that women's hearts are too faint and cannot handle the creative ways Death plays his game," Arathell mentioned.

"Aye, that's true for many. But not for that girl. She's a fighter. You can see it in her eyes. Just like we can see it in yours, Arathell." He made a few more grumbles that she couldn't make out. Finally, he continued, "Horsemen," he scoffed, looking at the many that were passing by them. "I wish I could muster a legion of Dwarves, fully armed and filthy!"

"Your kinsmen may have no need to ride to war," Legolas answered. "I fear war already marches on their own lands."

Arathell froze at the thought, thinking of her Kara and of her beautiful grandchildren. It was silly to suspect that all was perfectly well there, she supposed, but it was something that she had refused to really think about.

Erebor was a magnificent stronghold and could most likely outlast any army with its high towers. But the thought of Kara even barricaded inside of there was an earthshattering one. Of course, Kara was never the kind of girl to run and hide from a fight. Even before she had aged a century, she had fought for Imladris. She fought in the Battle of the Five Armies and she had saved the lives of both Princes then. Kara would not cower behind those stone walls now.

Was her daughter even still alive? Was Erebor still safe?

Her heart flared at both thoughts, and she closed her eyes, fighting the dark thought. With reckless abandon, she pushed the realms of her gift outward, searching for her daughter, reaching as far as she could. Arathell had lost her ability to see at such a distance long ago, and she had only recently recovered her gift at all. Weak from misuse, Arathell pushed her boundaries out more and more. Darkness threatened to cloud over her search, but she preserved. A hand jostled her, but she ignored it, taking in another deep breath and holding it, propelling her farther and farther over mountains and rivers. The trees of Mirkwood were barely recognized as the great stone walls began to take shape. Her mind hurt from the journey, but she pushed on. Just a little more…

Her mind blew apart the stone, delving into the fortress and rummaging, ignoring every other mind she encountered. She would know if her daughter was there or not. Other minds weren't scuttling anxiously, and that brought her some comfort – no one else was afraid at the moment.

Breaking through Kara's chambers, a bright green enveloped everything behind her eyelids. It almost burned to stare at it, but there was warmth and there was tender joy mixed with motherly concern and unconditional love.

When Arathell opened her eyes, she was staring up at the sky, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli crowding around her. "Did you see her?" Legolas asked just as Aragorn barked if she was alright.

She nodded in regards to both questions. Pressing her palm into her eye, she felt the headache recede just a little. "I haven't used my gift in such a way for a long time," she commented, feeling herself being pulled to her feet. "I'm quite alright," she drawled. "Just… just give me a moment to collect myself."

"Is she alive?" Gimli asked.

Arathell nodded again and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. "You shouldn't have risked doing that," Aragorn murmured. "Thankfully, people seem busy enough not to have seen you fall."

"That would explain the discomfort in my arm," she agreed, rolling her shoulder slightly.

"Arathell –"

"I'm not going to apologize for looking," she snapped, turning her head to glare at him. "I'm rather ashamed that I hadn't attempted to do so already," she added quietly. "She is my daughter and I should be looking out for her always. When Legolas said…"

"It wasn't meant to insinuate that you were not trying, Arathell," the Elf regaled gently.

"I know." She sighed. "I just had to look. I had already spent enough time completely ignoring the possibility that my daughter could be at war. I didn't want to think about it, I suppose. But after you said… I had to look. I wouldn't have been able to wait a moment longer. She is my daughter, and I am not going to be making apologies. Her welfare will always supersede my own and I would gladly do it again. I'm already feeling much better."

They all nodded and she hurriedly climbed back on Hasufel, patting his neck gently to calm him. "What did you see then?" Gimli finally asked once they were all situated on their mounts again.

"I did not see any great fear," she replied. "There is tension, and maybe preparation, but not hopelessness. Kara was… she was just as gentle as she always is and just as full of light as always." She thought of the bright green that had nearly blinded even her closed eyes. "She is not distressing just now."

"Good," Aragorn breathed. She stared at him. "I have told you before that she was a dear friend to me. I love that Dwarf very much. She helped take care of me when you were away looking for Gandalf, I think. I've always looked up to her and I would hate for anything to happen."

Arathell nodded in content. "It's time to leave," she stated, pointing up at Éomer.

"Now is the hour!" His voice echoed across the hills like trumpets would dance off of gold, full of pride and determination. "Riders of Rohan, oaths you have taken! Now, fulfill them all, to lord and land!"

She could not remember actually coaxing Hasufel into following, and maybe she didn't. Maybe her mount simply knew to follow his kin, maintaining speed with them all, Brego and Arod close at hand.

Riding through the pike-gate, she briefly wondered if she would ever ride through them again.

They rode at the front of the column, the royals of Rohan perched high on their horses with their chests puffed out in pride. They were without fear and it was truly inspiring. She looked to Aragorn, bowed forward to mold himself to Brego, riding the wind without hindrance. Legolas paired with Gimli allowed them both to do little more than bounce on the saddle, but Legolas turned it into a graceful dance, nonetheless. Éowyn seemed to be trying her best to emanate her uncle and brother, but eventually dropped her shoulders and let the wind have its way with her hair. Even still, Arathell pledged to tell her later that she looked like a lioness with the fiery determination in her eyes to match. They never did get a chance to clean up the books.

Somewhere behind her, she knew that Merry was riding. She saw him at the start on a little white pony, beaming with excitement. To him, he was going to Pippin. Arathell was more worried about what else he was going to.

The Elves, though certainly having the right to ride at the front of the column with them, had elected to ride further back, bringing up the rear, and most likely bringing a majestic close to what Rohan's royals began.

* * *

 **We are starting to really move on now! How very exciting! We are officially on our way to Gondor and things are getting to be more and more intense as we go. Hope you all are as excited as I am! More romance next chapter!**

 _AGAIN PLEASE GO WATCH THE TRAILER WICKEDGREENE13 MADE FOR THIS STORY AND GIVE HER LOTS OF LOVE FOR BEING SO AMAZING! IT IS CALLED "The Beautifully Dark Sister - Fanfic Trailer"!_

 **Please leave a review?**

 **Check out the music! Dipping into another fandom that I do not own, but that's okay, right?**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	71. Chapter 71

**Hey everyone! Not much to say except thanks for the reviews/follows/favorites that I receive! Also, if you haven't already checked out the trailer made by WickedGreene13, I strongly urge you do that because it is amazing! It can be found on YouTube as "The Beautifully Dark Sister – Fanfic Trailer." Please give her some love for this incredible work!**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Safe and Sound - Taylor Swift feat. The Civil Wars

"Don't you dare look out your window, darling.  
Everything's on fire  
The war outside our door keeps raging on  
Hold onto this lullaby  
Even when the music's gone  
Gone"

* * *

Arathell couldn't be sure how far they had ridden that day, but when they stopped, it was near nightfall. She slid easily off of the horse, giving him a soft pat on the neck. "You've done well today, mellon," she purred, pushing her forehead against the sweaty pelt.

They had taken several breaks throughout the day, careful not to expend the horses' energy, but it was clear that Hasufel at least was looking forward to a night of rest.

The goal was Dunharrow; that had been explained to her. From there, hopefully all of Rohan's Men would be gathered and would ride off together for Gondor. Théoden was hoping for twenty thousand and she had nodded lightly at the number. It was a nice number, but she already knew that such a number was just not conceivable. Likely, Rohan's population was just as decimated as the garrisons in Helm's Deep. She would keep her opinion to herself, knowing that the King's courage was fearful at best.

Aragorn was already setting up his tent, Brego happily swallowing water from a small pond. Arod and Hasufel soon followed and then took to eating some of the cool grass.

She approached him gently, knowing that there were others that would have set up his tent for him, but he seemed content to do it himself. Arathell knew him well enough to know that he didn't particularly care for tents. She was never sure why, but he seemed most comfortable when he could open his eyes and see the stars or see the beginnings of a new day.

It was a generously sized tent, but not the greatest of sizes. A hundred meters away, she could see a whole host of Men helping the King raise his royal tent.

Aragorn had been given such a tent as well, but he had refrained from using it for now. Maybe when they reached Dunharrow, he would use the greater, more imposing one. Currently, perhaps he was too tired from the ride to bother with the larger one.

"Tomorrow we arrive at Dunharrow?" she murmured, watching his hands pull at knots and great canvas being pegged into the ground.

"If everything goes accordingly," he agreed before sighing. He was halfway through his work when he pushed aside the tools and found his bedroll, laying it out away from the discarded tent.

"Too tired?"

"I have never been comfortable in tents," he retorted.

"Why?" Arathell had always found them pleasant. They were by no means necessary, but they could shield the resident from wind and house a fire nice enough.

Aragorn lied down, watching the sky change from its bright colors to its softer, gentler hues. "There is only one entrance in a tent."

Arathell cocked her head and came to sit beside him. "And you would not be able to cut through the canvas to escape if someone unwanted should enter?"

"I suspect that if someone unwanted entered, I would not know the difference until it didn't matter anymore."

"I think you'd hear someone just fine if they came in. You are almost as light of a sleeper as I am."

"You've seemed to have gotten better."

Arathell shrugged and finally joined him completely on the ground. "I have you to thank, I suppose. It is no matter now though." She sighed, seeing a star dimly begin to shine. In the distance, she could hear a fire rattling and Men were laughing. Dinner would be soon. "I suppose also that this means that I will have to go without a tent this evening as well."

"Why is that?" he said tiredly and when her eyes landed back on him, his were already closed.

"I stay with you," she replied simply.

Arathell saw him smile softly and felt his hand take hold of hers. "What would you have done if I had pitched my tent?"

"I'd stay with you," she said again. "I've spent too much time away from you to do with anything less."

"I'm flattered."

She kicked his shin. "I'm having an uncommonly sentimental moment and you are turning it into rubbish," she grumbled. Arathell heard his soft laughter that fought to escape from his closed lips. She sighed in exasperation and moved to find Éowyn. His fingers wound themselves into hers in an instant and he pulled her back down to him so that she hovered over his reclined form.

The look in his eyes was calm and only the grip on her portrayed his desire for her to stay. "You know that I do not take these moments of yours lightly, Arathell." She fought to not smile at how tenderly he had said her name. It was a whisper or something that he had taken from a melancholy, reverent tune – how he said her name. It wasn't always said that way, but when he tried especially hard to hold onto her, her name came from his lips like a prayer. "I wasn't meaning to make simple your words," he added when she remained silent.

Arathell fixed her mask perfectly, arching a brow and pursing her lips for good measure. She looked away from him, as if too upset to even look at him.

"Arathell, don't," he sighed, the plea weak in her opinion.

She tilted her head back at him before plastering a calculating smirk on her face. "You'll have to make amends somehow, my King."

Aragorn returned the smirk and sat up, pushing her back but keeping their bodies close. Retaining her focus was becoming increasingly difficult with that smirk growing into cockiness that she shouldn't have been surprised to see. "I'm still your King?" he murmured, bumping her nose with his.

"Only you could be aroused at the thought of being owned," she teased, leaning away a little and making him follow her until she had repositioned them on the grass. He balanced over her, carefully making sure not to touch her.

Arathell never would have guessed in her thousands of years that Aragorn could be so playful and it still shocked her at times. He was bathed in decorum and he exuded an aura of sophistication and maturity. His eyes were sage and his voice articulate with bright ideas flowing endlessly from him like a waterfall. And yet, a single touch from her or even a practiced look could crack that lordly exterior. Underneath was still a Man, and he was in love with her. The same eyes that saw and processed everything at once became dark hurricanes that would make her shiver with anticipation. The eloquent and gentle words could easily twist themselves into little daggers of pleasure that would spark all of the right things through her ears, drowning the rest of the world out.

"Being yours is an adventure of the best quality," he answered. His breath was hot on her face and she finally grinned, reaching up to trace his cheekbone. His face was not angular like an Elf's, nor was it entirely soft like the round faces of the Hobbits. The cheekbones were prominent but melted into his features like a painting, yet his bearded jaw was pointed and direct, like a wild creature. She loved his face, mapping out the painting qualities and taking her time playing with his beard. "I couldn't imagine a better way to spend my existence."

Her smile softened and she continued playing with his unkempt facial hair. "Have I ever told you that sometimes you are almost too romantic?"

She saw him smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling like a man who had spent his whole life laughing instead of being hunted. "You've mentioned it before, I believe. Should I stop?"

Arathell paused and stared directly into his eyes. By the Valar, she wanted to freeze that moment. The love that was burning through her was almost painful. He was smiling so, so, so softly, corners barely upturned at all. But the love was showcased so strongly, uninhibited and free. It was raw and it even hurt to look at him. But she wanted it to freeze. The feeling in her lungs was already nonexistent and the beat of her heart was in her ears, echoing as if it was some drum in the distance, muffling everything else outside of their cocoon. Oh, she needed this Man. She found that she no longer cared if he wanted her or not; she would not let him leave her. He had given her a taste of life and he would not be allowed to take it from her.

"Don't ever leave," she whispered, the words sneaking out without her permission.

His face remained soft, closing in to brush his nose into her hair. "I would never," he committed.

Arathell gave him a tender push, meeting those brilliant eyes again. "Not even death. You cannot die, Aragorn, not without me with you."

His face saddened a little and he pushed his forehead onto hers, locking their gazes even tighter. He would not say anything, and she didn't expect him to either. What could he say? He could not commit to her that he would survive, and she already knew that he likely wouldn't. She wouldn't either; this war would kill them all. "I thought you wished to live on after me," he finally mentioned.

She sighed and closed her eyes, nestling herself against him more. "Yes," she agreed. "And I still would. But the thought of being without you… I could not live long. I'd settle the affairs and then walk away, waiting for death to bring me back to you. I could survive without you… but I couldn't live. Perhaps it is the other way around. I do not proclaim to know. What I do know is that life would not be worth living. I still have Kara, but she knows. I would give my life for her and I have loved her more fiercely than anything and for longer than I have loved you. That child owns a piece of my heart that you could never hope to hold. But she deserves more than to look after a grief-stricken mother who is barely alive."

Arathell saw him grind his teeth, as he looked away at the ground to the side of her head. "We were jesting not even moments ago."

She smiled and began caressing his face once more. "War is good at permeating even the brightest of moments and conversations. It is like it knows of our joy and looks to destroy it." Arathell shook her head a little. "But it is no matter now. Just… do not leave me and we will not have to face the consequences."

He chuckled dryly, still lost in his darker thoughts.

"Kiss me and I will consider your apology forgiven," she offered, bumping her nose onto his. Aragorn huffed a little. "You had best hurry. The proposal is not a permanent one…" she taunted. He rolled his eyes then but finally looked at her. "Hold onto your hope, love. At the very least, hold onto this now. Now we are safe and alive and happy. Do not let Sauron steal this moment from us. We have worked too hard to have it."

"I love you," he declared, again with the gentle breeze of a whisper on a summer morning. "I really do."

She smirked. "Prove it."

His lips were neither gentle nor rough, both stealing her breath and making her feel as if she could finally breathe. Colors popped behind her lids and she felt his hair in her fingers, holding him tighter. The beard was a gentle massage and a possessive scraping, making her tremble. His tongue was artful, yet still as quick as his sword as he defeated her easily, plundering her mouth and taking from her like he needed it while still giving her everything she could have wanted.

Arathell felt herself rolling, ending up on his chest while he pushed insistently against her lips, hands clawing into her hair and holding her to him. His gasps were married to hers and as his teeth raked at her swollen lips, she felt warmth pool in her belly. Her knuckles were white around his tunic as the lust made itself more known. She was groaning now, and she could feel his own arousal underneath her.

She pulled back quickly and rolled off of him, staring up at the sky. "It probably would not be wise to have all of Rohan see your desire so blatantly."

His laugh was easy again with a hint of labor at what he was likely trying to control at that moment. "I thought you had made your distaste in others' opinions clearly. You've been more openly affectionate with me since our discussion at Edoras."

Arathell nodded. "I regret my decision for being closed about our feelings for so long. That being said, a kiss on the cheek and holding a hand is much less severe than what we were just doing. Hopefully, the others were too busy to pay us much mind. I would hate for your reputation to be smeared because of your inability to handle my wanton ways."

"You're not wanton," he argued.

"That's for Rohan to decide and how quick they will be to spread the news of the possibility that our wedding bed would not be the first bed we have ever shared."  
"Realistically it won't be. At Edoras even, we slept as though we were already married."

"Not shared in that way, my love," she teased.

He rolled his eyes and sat up, looking around at all of the Men, still scuffling about with firewood. "The only women here are you and Éowyn and as far as I know, it is women who are the quickest to spread gossip. I don't think that the Men would begrudge me at all for wanting to be with you as much as I can be in every way that I can. We are riding to battle and we may not survive. I do not think that proper etiquette is what is currently on their minds," he reasoned.

"Perhaps you are right. Even still, there are some things that I, personally, would rather have kept private between you and me. I am an Elf, after all, and I should try to retain some honor."

"And for long will you be an Elf?" he teased, and she knew by the light in his eyes that he was not trying to be pushing in any way.

"Fine – as a woman of whatever race, honor is needed. These Men respect me, but they would not respect a harlot who lifts her skirts at the first sign of the end of the world."

"That doesn't sound like an unreasonable action."

"Don't be crude," she snapped, looking at him out of the bottoms of her eyes. He laughed a little.

"At least you know that they would not be able to say that you have gone to other Men."

"And that I am in love with a King; that should lessen the fall."

They both rolled their eyes at her joke before she sighed gently and stared at him. His eyes were soft when he met her gaze and he tenderly leaned his forehead onto hers. Arathell showed the smallest hints of a smile, feeling peace wash over her entire form. Moments like these were coming more frequently for the two of them, and she loved it with everything in her being. Each moment of peace, however, she would find herself praying to the Valar for but one more. It was precious and pure and made her forget absolutely anything that would make her unworthy of him. It no longer became about actions, but two souls that were destined for each other mingling in a void that escaped from the world they lived in. She was free without pain and it was only him.

"Arathell." She couldn't be sure if he had actually spoken the word, but it made her shiver and edge herself further into him.

She could feel the question emit from his lips before they were said and she raised her fingers to touch the lips she had been kissing not even moments before. "I'm not leaving you again," she hushed. "I've come to depend on this, and I know that you need me. I love you back, Aragorn; I swear that I do. And I will not be giving you another chance to run from me again." He smiled and swished his nose over hers. "This is forever."

"Always," he concurred.

* * *

 **March 17, 3019 – Dunharrow**

She stared with dismay at the collection of soldiers in front of her. High up on the cliffs of Dunharrow, she could witness the entire encampment, noting the orderly rows of tents pitched and horses being led every which way by trained Rohirrim Men. It wasn't their abilities that troubled her, rather the numbers. Théoden had garnered six thousand Men to his cause, and while it was considerably more than what they had had at Helm's Deep, this was a different enemy. Horses were added benefits, but it wasn't enough. Mordor's terror amounted to well over ten thousand, more likely approaching twenty-five. Whatever Gondor already had would not be able to tackle even half of that number, and Rohan was just as ill-suited.

Off to the side of her, also looking down into the valley was Aragorn speaking with the King, but she could not hear what either of them was saying. It was morning, and she had hoped that more tents would have been added from overnight. That wasn't the case at all, and she was beginning to feel even more hopeless, if that was even possible.

A stalky figure approached her from the side and took her hand with a firm grip. "More might still come," Gimli reminded her. "Now is not the time to be looking so melancholy. We have not even reached the battlefield and your disappointment will only lose us the battle quicker."

She sighed and looked down to the red beard. Once, it had reminded her of the fires of Erebor, bright and never able to be extinguished. The twinkle in his eyes was like Gandalf's and his smile was even bigger. The thought of losing this precious Dwarf made her eyes well up and she forced herself to look away. She wouldn't even dare to look at the others behind her now.

"Where do you think the others are?" she croaked out.

Gimli shuffled out of the corner of her eye and he hummed noncommittedly. The answer was still very definitive, and she knew exactly where Gimli thought the others were… a mass grave if they were lucky.

Arathell hadn't approached any of the other soldiers, distancing herself as she always had in her youth. She had already too many faces she was afraid to see disappear, and she couldn't bear the thought of adding even more to that last. She would stay away from them. "Have you seen Lord Erkenbrand?" she asked, changing the subject.

Gimli nodded. "He tarries often with the King. I do not think that even Aragorn has seen much of him. Of course, that could be from his amount of time that he spends with you."

She shrugged with boredom. "We value the limited time we have together, is all."

"No one begrudges you for it, lass," he soothed gently.

"Do you have anyone back home, Gimli?" Arathell asked suddenly, turning herself away from the horde of Men to face the Dwarf.

He blushed under the thickness of his red beard and shuffled again. "We have few women in my race," he said carefully. "And being the son of a warrior is the only life I have ever known. But I do have love for a great deal of other things and people, and I like to think that they would miss me."

"Anyone in particular?" she replied.

"My father," he answered. "Family is… There is no bond that is stronger and no loyalty that is greater. We have our pride, but often it is in relation to things a relative has done to benefit the rest of our people."

"Kara has explained that to me, yes," Arathell affirmed with a nod. "And I have witnessed it, besides."

His face softened at the mention of the Princess, and he even blushed a little. "She has done much for Erebor as well as for all Dwarves. She has ensured the line of Durin and she leads always with a bright smile and a kind heart. Or at least that is what I have heard. I have never had the pleasure of meeting her. My father was close to her though as I'm sure you are already aware."

"Why have you not met her then?"

"Well, of course, I have seen her in passing, and I believe that she is aware of who I am. She is barely younger than me, after all." Arathell raised her eyebrows and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I do not mean anything improper, lass, so take that look out of your eye," he snapped, and she chuckled, shaking her head and turned her back on the valley.

"Do you think you will ever find someone?" Arathell asked conversationally as they walked closer to the camp. Soldiers were thicker here, barrowing in and out like practiced ants with their assorted weights toted on their lightly armored backs.

"If Mahal allows," he responded. "Truthfully, I am not in need of a love. We revere our women for their rarity, and find them as beautiful as the stones we dig from the earth. But I am a warrior to the bone, Arathell. I thirst more for defending my people than finding an individual."

"That is fair enough," she answered with a nod. "I shared a similar opinion once."

They sat themselves down beside Legolas and watched on. Her eyes fell on Éowyn, who was talking carefully with Merry. It was obvious that the Hobbit was trying his best to bring up the Woman's spirits, but her eyes betrayed her wanderlust, settling frequently on her brother, then her uncle, Aragorn, and even on Arathell every now and again.

A sharp shriek from one of the horses drew her attention, and she stood, noticing that it was Hasufel, fighting angrily against the tugging of the reins. She marched up to her stallion and took hold of him, already murmuring whispers at him, but his restlessness continued.

"The horses are restless," she heard Legolas comment from behind her.

"Thank you for the keen observation, Legolas," she grunted, now giving a quick yank on the reins and shocking Hasufel into submission. Her Faerdhinen would not have behaved this way. She pulled him back to the others, looping her hand gently under his head to absent-mindedly stroke the other side of his face, patting him comfortingly.

Legolas tossed her a glare before settling his eyes on Éomer, who was putting saddles away for prepping.

"They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain," he drawled under his breath.

She blinked at the word and looked away to the path. Morning fog shrouded the mountain's feet, billowing up more and more and just slightly leaking into the crack that cut the mountain. It had been only a short time since she had used the name Shadow, but it felt as if it had been centuries. It even frightened her now, looking at the legitimate shadow and fear this mountain caused for the Men. Had that once been her? Great and terrible, so much to the point where others would never venture?

"That road there," Gimli began and her gaze fell down on the Dwarf, eager to look away from the mountain's eerie breath expulsion. "Where does that lead?"

"It is the road to the Dimholt," Legolas replied, and she sighed, kicking at the ground. She recognized the name, and in the back of her mind, she had known what this road was. Its legend was long and tragic, and even older than herself. That alone was enough to frighten her. "The door under the mountain," he continued.

"None who venture there ever return," Éomer replied, giving her a steely look. For a second, she felt a challenge emanating from him, but this challenge was too great for her, and she would rather face Mordor alone than walk along that path. "That mountain is evil," he surmised and turned away, looking warily at it.

* * *

 **Sorry, cutting back on plot just a wee bit. But we had some Gimli conversations which is great, right? Please leave your thoughts!**

 **AGAIN PLEASE GO WATCH THE TRAILER WICKEDGREENE13 MADE FOR THIS STORY AND GIVE HER LOTS OF LOVE FOR BEING SO AMAZING!**

 **Please leave a review?**

 **Check out the music! Again, borrowed from another fandom, but that's okay... think it's the same fandom as last time. :D**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	72. Chapter 72

**Hello, loves! I am sooo sorry that I didn't post on Sunday! It got to be super late and when I was getting ready for bed, I just couldn't go through the process of updating. The same thing happened last night. I didn't have this chapter edited or anything, and I still woke up exhausted anyways. But it is here now, and it is a little longer just for my tardiness plus with some romance! Thank you for all of the reviews! They have made me super happy! We are almost halfway to awarding another one-shot!**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

I'll Follow You - Shinedown

"I'll follow you down  
To the eye of the storm  
Don't worry I'll keep you warm  
I'll follow you down  
While we are passing through space  
I don't care if we fall from grace  
I'll follow you down"

* * *

Arathell cleared her throat and looked back at the road, now seeing Aragorn perched at its entrance, grasping the rock and leaning in to breathe in whatever fumes the mountain gave him.

She passed the reins to Legolas and walked up to Aragorn, reaching for his hand and giving it a tug. He jumped at her touch and met her stare wildly. "Do not look there," she warned, all affection purposefully gone from her voice. "You know what this is. There is no need to investigate."

"Did you see him?" he murmured, casting a glance back at the road.

Arathell reached to turn his face back to look at her. "What did you see?" she demanded warily. He began to shake his head, but she gave him a light slap. "Do not lie to me," she growled. "What did you see? You saw something, Aragorn. Who is 'he'?"

"He was…" He looked around at the Men before shaking his head at her. "You are right. We need not look there. We have enough trouble as it is."

Aragorn pulled her away from the spot, leading back to the tent that he had erected for himself. Arathell had not bothered to make up her own tent, not even tarrying on the decision to stay with him for the night. She had noticed a few interested and curious looks regarding her decision, but many of the Men had already accepted it as a commonplace occurrence.

She followed him in and pulled her hand free, setting her hands on her hips to glare at him. "I do not like information kept from me," she mentioned darkly, watching as he swept across the room to the small fire pleasantly burning in the middle of the tent.

It was a well-flourished tent, tapestries of Rohan's great flag and maps pouring from passable shelves with books opened. They had been at Dunharrow for the span of one day, and he had already converted the portable home into a foundation that could have been built with stone.

Aragorn was pulling pieces of food from his pack, discarded somewhere in the corner before returning to the fire to warm the meal up. "Now you will not speak?" she demanded. "I still have my own tent, Aragorn, and I will sleep there if need be."

"Am I not allowed my secrets?" he snapped back at her, meeting her gaze at last.

She guffawed and marched up to him, standing on the opposite side of the fire. "Do not play that game with me. Do not dare to assume that I demand every piece of knowledge you have. You are not allowed to do that. When I see you, a fearless, proud, Ranger and King tremble at a heap of rock, I am allowed to be concerned. Whatever it was that you saw made its impression in the worst way on you, and I want to know what it is."

Aragorn sighed and sat down, taking a piece of chicken away from the fire and holding it up to her in surrender. "I apologize. You are right. My words were unjust and I would have asked the same of you had you seen it." She nodded and moved around the fire to sit beside him, taking the chicken and setting it on a makeshift plate. "I saw… a being. It… he…" he trailed off, shaking his head as he tried to clear his thoughts. "He hovered through the air. He was an apparition and was a sickly color, translucent flesh hanging from his bones which were exposed like… I do not know how to probably describe it."

"And you do not know who he is?" she murmured, leaning in to him and resting her hand on his knee and watching his hand ungracefully fall on top of hers.

"He wore a headdress unlike anything I have ever seen. He looked foul, with robes that moved without wind really moving through them. The crown he wore… it was large and seemed very heavy. I never would have guessed that he could have seen me with his clouded eyes but… his gaze pierced me like an arrow. He froze me in my place, daring me and making my blood run cold."

Arathell swallowed. "Was it like the palantir?" she murmured again, afraid of the answer.

Aragorn shook his head lightly and looked down at their hands, hair falling into his face. "No, this was much different than that. It was… terrifying and yet… transfixing. I have many more thoughts now than I did previously and ideas that I had not had before."

"Such as?" she remarked.

"The legends," he surmised.

Arathell shifted nervously. "You believe that you could…" she began, looking at the ground with her head cocked towards him. "You think that because you are the rightful King… you could have leverage over their souls? You would risk your life to call them – monsters – to fulfill a promise broken millennia ago?"

"Of course I would not," he hushed. Arathell continued to stare at him unblinkingly. He smiled softly and retracted his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, following the strand down to twirl it in his fingers. It brought her a little comfort, but she still refrained from exhaling. "They are traitors – nothing more. They believed in nothing in life, and I doubt that death could have altered their perspective."

"You do not even carry Elendil's sword," she mentioned.

"Another valid reason," he agreed, now giving her hair a tug before burying his hand deeper into her hair, pulling her forehead onto his. "You have no need to worry over me, meleth," he breathed. "I would not go heartily on a quest such as that. I have no intention of following that road, and I have made my promises to Rohan, as you have as well. We will not abandon them to fear and a hopeless future."

Arathell finally exhaled and nodded against his form, letting her eyes fall shut. "I suppose you already know, but if you did decide to go… and if you left me here… I would never forgive you for it. I stay with you, Aragorn. I may have made promises to Rohan, but you are more important to me, and I cannot watch you go to a place alone if it is within my capabilities to follow. You will remember that, won't you? You won't leave without me?"

Now it was his turn to sigh and she felt his lips press carefully onto hers. It wasn't affectionate or lustful, rather a touch that was meant to reassure and to dispel any worries. The scruff of his beard grounded her to reality and kept her occupied enough to let him control the depth of their kiss. The soft massage that his lips gave lifted her spirits high, however, almost making her forget their conversation.

When he pulled away, he was giving her a cocky smile, arching a solitary eyebrow at her like a challenge, full of teasing love. "It is not in my power to deny you, Arathell." She grinned cheekily, standing and patting his cheek like a child. "You will stay with me just as fiercely as I will stay with you."

Arathell smiled further, content with the answer. "What did you and Théoden speak of?" she asked, moving through the tent to the maps on a table.

Aragorn frowned, twirling his piece of chicken around in his fingers. "His numbers are too few. I cannot know how many times Sauron's numbers double our own but… I know that these odds are not at all favorable."

"Helm's Deep was similar," Arathell replied. "I'm sure your hope will be rekindled again."

"What are your thoughts regarding the numbers?" he retorted, eyebrow arched as he watched her. She put her weight on her right leg, staring at the depiction of the Pelennor Fields. Undoubtedly, this was where the majority of the battle would take place, paired with whatever battle was happening in the walls of the city. Her eyes trailed to the river, having now recalled Gandalf's words about black ships. Orcs were a certainty, but whatever demon the river held for them was unclear. It was known already that there were Men who followed Sauron – Easterlings. She had faced them once, long ago.

"I've been prepared to die for a long time now, Aragorn. You know that," she finally answered, still looking at the map, her finger settling on a smudged ring of Minas Tirith. Seven rings, built on one another in increasing glory and pride, and she would never get to see it. Rather, she would never get to see it as she wished to see it.

Arathell had been there once, remembering the planting of the fresh and bright White Tree that was old and worn now. She felt like the tree, stiff and dead and waiting to be destroyed. The only thing that made her feel alive again was Aragorn. And she would wager that he would save the Tree just as well.

Regardless of her visit, Arathell could not recall much, remembering faces more than stone. They were valiant and young, with easy smiles and sparkling eyes. They were happy. Arathell hadn't known it at the time, but now she did – that was meant to be her home. She wanted the privilege to look after those people, give them joy and happy homes to return to. She wanted to rule alongside Aragorn, carving out a place for themselves and shining bright like a beacon. She wanted the people to be as happy as she could be with Aragorn.

She would not have any of that now.

The place she already referred to as home would be nothing but flames and screams when she would arrive.

Arathell almost did not want to go.

Aragorn hadn't replied to her, but when she looked up at him, he was staring mournfully. Likely, he was just as upset about their lack of a future in Gondor as she was. He did not try to smile at her, only blinking gently and gliding his lips together in regretful contemplation.

* * *

The evening had turned quiet for the two of them, silently agreeing that on the eve of battle, words were not needed. All Arathell wanted was to rest one more night beside him without fear. She wanted to feel free in his arms and not have visions of death haunting her closed eyelids.

Arathell had made time to be with Éowyn, whose restlessness was at the greatest Arathell had ever seen before. The girl wrung her hands miserably, laughing plainly with the jokes that Merry provided, but Arathell could see that the Hobbit was not much better. In between bouts of conversation, Merry would look off to the East, would bite his lip and then swallow, shake his head and begin a new round of playful questioning.

Arathell sat calmly next to Éowyn at the final supper. Everyone fought to keep conversation alive, but in those moments where silence reigned, vacant gazes focused on the flame of the campfire. The only sounds to comfort them were the howls of the wind slapping the canvas of the tents surrounding them and the crackling that snapped in the red-orange glow.

"How are you feeling?" Éowyn asked bluntly, not looking to her right at Arathell.

Arathell smiled softly. "I should be asking you that question. Your uncle and your brother go to battle tomorrow, and you aren't allowed to follow. Your distress must be far greater."

"I'm trying to keep my mind from those things," the Woman said harshly.

Arathell nodded in agreement. "Apologies then." Éowyn snapped her head down once, still looking into the fire. "I'm quite calm," Arathell finally admitted. Éowyn turned, giving her an incredulous look, her eyes begging for elaboration. "I haven't had much hope for this world for a long time. Remember, I have been alive to watch it gradually fall into ruin. Even in times of peace there was nothing that my kin or I could do to permanently fix that peace. Sauron was never truly destroyed and we were incapable of finishing the task that Elendil set out to do. Now that Sauron has returned to power without having anyone to stop him… I do not see how it can be done. Naturally, I've grown accustomed myself to the idea that I will not survive this. The only question was when. Of course, I wish that I had more time but I have never shied away from death before, and if my death can give another even a moment longer of happiness, then that is what I will do."

"Does Aragorn know that?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Arathell shifted a little on the log she was perched on. "He has known me better than anyone else has in my life. He understands that this particular personality trait was born centuries before he was and it will take more than a great effort to give me hope. He does not like it and wishes differently for me, but it is not something that he is devoting so much time to changing. He loves me regardless and he knows that I return that affection most ardently."

"How does he believe tomorrow will go?" Éowyn continued.

Arathell frowned and looked at their tent. Théoden and Éomer had disappeared inside almost an hour ago and neither her lover nor Éowyn's family had emerged. "His opinion varies. He vouches strongly for the courage of your Men and he truly believes that one day Sauron can be eternally vanquished. Aragorn's mind is rather ambiguous as to when that day will arrive and if it will arrive in his lifetime." Arathell smiled softly and looked down at the ground. "He has been clear with me that whatever does happen tomorrow, what we have is enough for him. We did not have the years that he has always wanted and I won't have the companionship that I have always craved, but we had our glimpse at happiness. And for us, that will be enough. We can pass on from this life knowing that we had found who we were meant for and knowing that we were loved in return. I can ask no more than that."

"He loves you very much, Thellie," Merry pipped up, reminding Arathell that he was sitting just on the other side of Éowyn. The Hobbit gave her a watery smile and Arathell reached over to pat his cheek gently. "And I refuse to think that happiness exists just to be stolen away by darkness," he added. "It is pure and it is what everyone holds on to. Darkness may douse the light, but the sun will still come up and it will be light once again."

She smiled further and stood, brushing herself off a little. "Promise me that you won't give up that fight, Merry," she murmured before the smile fell from her face. "Promise that when it is so dark, you can remember that somewhere there is light and somewhere someone is smiling. Promise that you won't forget that that is what you are fighting for." Merry nodded stoutly but she saw his bottom lip quiver, fighting to stay brave. "Have Éowyn fit your armor. You will need it for tomorrow."

Both Woman and Hobbit stood then, eager for a task to keep their minds off of the doom that was waiting for them all.

Arathell turned toward the tent, marching in without announcing herself and seeing the three Men crowded over one of Aragorn's tattered maps. She saw Aragorn's face soften at her arrival and reached his hand out for her without saying a word of greeting. She took it without question and looked over his shoulder at the figurines positioned on the hill overlooking the Pelennor Fields. Aragorn continued explaining what he believed to be the likely tactic Mordor would have formulated, pointing in some areas where Rohan's defenses would be weaker and likewise pointing as to where he supposed Mordor's to be. It was all speculation, but Théoden and Éomer listened and watched with rapt attention, eyes darting every which way as if they were already there, looking for the next victim.

"And the city?" Arathell asked quietly, afraid to disturb the determination that Aragorn had built for himself.

The King and Marshall looked at Aragorn steadfastly, and she knew already that they both had pledged their lives to Aragorn and would follow him to whatever fate was waiting for him.

Aragorn's lips were pressed together in a firm line rubbing against the other back and forth. She could feel the distress emanating off of him and the sense of hopelessness soon after. There were too many variables, and she knew that with the uncertainty of even what he could potentially predict, nothing was set in stone. He was overwhelmed and it broke a piece of her to see it. "We salvage what we can," she answered for him with a nod, watching Aragorn softly. Théoden and Éomer both stared at Aragorn and waited for the true decision to be made.

Slowly, Aragorn was nodding in response to her order. The two other Men gave hurried nods, setting their minds to the task, already bracing for the hit that would not come for hours longer. They both leaned back, accepting, but stood a moment longer. "Leave us please," she asked them quietly. They only gave a look to Aragorn, who had yet to say anything again.

"My lady," both Men acknowledged with a light bow in her direction before they left the tent.

"We can't," Aragorn muttered as soon as they left, looking at the map.

Arathell was unsure of what to say to him, so she refrained from saying anything. Instead, she pushed her forehead onto his temple, loaning her strength to him and feeling his hand let go of hers to wrap around her waist, pulling her into a fierce embrace. She felt his chin pierce the top of her shoulder and his fists push into her spine so tight that they were collectively shaking.

She rotated them, forcing him to look away from the map. When she looked at it, she noticed grimly that Mordor's black figurines, represented by black pegs, gradually blended into random markers, even blades of grass. They did not even have enough figurines to accurately demonstrate what was waiting for them.

"Stay with me tomorrow," he pleaded, pulling back a little to shove his forehead onto hers, eyes boring into her soul and setting it on fire. "Do not leave my side."

"Never," she conceded.

He sighed, looking satisfied with the answer. "I love you."

"Love you," she answered back quickly.

He sighed again and pulled away, turning his body back to the map. His hands braced his form as he leaned down on the little table, shoulders hunched with his head bowed in submission. Arathell felt broken as she watched him. She had never seen him this way before and it scared her more than she would have liked to admit.

Boldly, she stood beside him and swept her hand over the top of the map, shoving away all of the figurines and hearing them clatter on the edges of the table as they fell to the torn up grassy ground. "Arathell!" he snapped.

"No," she commanded and he fell silent. "You know the plans backwards and forwards. The pieces are nothing but a formality. We both know what awaits us tomorrow, and I will not spend potentially my last night with you looking broken over what would have been our home. You are stronger than this, Aragorn. Tonight, you are not a King of Men. Tonight, you are not even a Ranger loaning his help. Tonight, you are only Aragorn and I am only Arathell. We are here together now and that is how we will stay. This," she continued, pointing to the map, "is not where a war is taking place. This is not where we lose. Tonight, this is home. This is strength and encouragement and reason to go on. This is why Aragorn and Arathell are fighting. Not because they are King and Queen or even because they are Strider and Shadow. It is because this is home. And we are going to fight for our home; do you understand me? We are going to fight like we have never fought before. Let go of the burden to save them – it will not do anything but make you hurt."

He nodded carefully. "They need me strong," he agreed.

"Whether they need you strong or not is not my concern. You need you to be strong and that is enough. We fight only for our home. Don't carry the weight of their lives on your shoulders."

"I'm their King," he reminded her.

"Yes, but you are a mortal Man first." He sighed and she returned the sound, reaching to cup his face in her hand. "I remember the day you came to Imladris."

He groaned. "I would rather you remember me this way – not as I was."

"But you were beautiful then," she remarked and she smirked at him when he gave her an exasperated look. "You had this ridiculous toothy grin and your eyes…" Arathell felt her bottom lip quiver and the sweet voice of her sister drifted into her mind. For a moment, Arathell was transfixed, hearing Arwen's words cut through her, but there was a voice before that. It was soft and tender and full of the wonder that her sister was graced with. "They were like starlight," she finished, coming back to the moment where Aragorn held her gaze. "You were free then. You would run to and fro around the room, dark curls bouncing. You were so innocent and without a care in the world. You never had to think about whether or not you would live to see the next day." Arathell sniffled, realizing only now that there were tears in her eyes. "I wish I could see you that free again," she whimpered. "I haven't seen your eyes like starlight since the day I met you."

"Arathell," he murmured, pulling her close and reaching to entwine his hand into her hair, massaging away the pain her heart channeled to her mind.

Tears were flowing freely now and from all of the years she kept them safely dammed behind a wall in her heart, that dam burst. Arathell could do nothing but mourn – not for her death, but for Aragorn and the life she would never have with him. She mourned for Kara and for her beautiful grandchildren, wishing that she could have only one more embrace and wishing that she could properly confer to them all how much she loved them. She mourned for Boromir and the love he would never know, for Éowyn and the heartbreak she had already prepared herself for, for Sam and Frodo, for poor Pippin and Merry. She mourned for her brothers and for Glorfindel. She mourned for Galadriel and for Celeborn and her father.

But now, at the end of all things, she found herself mourning for Arwen. So much anger had been hardened in their past and even with her sharp, clear memories, their argument seemed trivial now that the world was ending. Arathell had loved her sister once, and even though she was looked at differently than her sister, Arwen had been a friend when everyone else hadn't been. And she realized now that she was going to go to her grave in the morning and her only sister was going to think that Arathell hated her. Arathell would never be able to apologize and earn forgiveness for her stubbornness and she would never be able to forgive her sister. They would die enemies.

"Arwen," she sobbed, not even realizing how tightly Aragorn was holding her. "She – she –" Words were impossible now and she could only sob. Her brown eyes were full of tears and when she opened them, they latched onto a blurry Aragorn.

Arathell wasn't sure how long she cried but it was for a long time. She held on tightly to Aragorn, trusting him with her vulnerability and wishing that their last night together was not full of tears.

When she finally began to calm herself, she pulled herself away from his chest and began wiping at her eyes. Her throat was raw and she noticed she had made indentations on her palm from how tightly she had clenched her fists. She looked up at him warily. "I'm sorry," she hastily said, looking away again. "I was trying to give you strength and I only ended up breaking myself."

Aragorn shook his head and swiveled her chin to face him. "I think what I just saw was you fixing yourself. And that was quite empowering."

She made a raspy laugh and wiped at her eyes again. "You sound ridiculous when you talk like that," she told him. "How many times must I say it?" She met his gaze and what she saw nearly made her restart crying. His eyes were soft and warm, but more than that – they were free and full of love. Arathell clicked her tongue and reached for some of his hair – a gesture he returned instantly. "There are the stars," she whispered, not even realizing that she had said it out loud until she saw him beaming at her.

"You accuse me of sounding ridiculous," he teased, though the warmth in his eyes conferred his appreciation for her words. She chuckled airily and continued staring up at him. "I still don't deserve you," Arathell remarked.

"Deserving has nothing to do with it," he rounded. "We give one another joy and love. And that is enough." His palm rested on her cheek, tracing the bone delicately with his thumb while his other fingers worked their way into her hair. "Arwen knows, Arathell. She misses you very much, but she knows that you do not hate her. I think more than anything, she was afraid of how you would react to her apology. I do not know what she said and she will not tell me but –"

"You talked to her about me?"

"I talk to everyone about you, meleth," he replied simply. "I never actively seek out an opportunity to speak of you, but the opportunities arise all the same." He paused. "You should just know that you are forgiven and she hopes that you can forgive her for her behavior."

"How will she know that I've forgiven her, Aragorn?" she retorted.

"Arwen is wise enough to know that you value family enough that when the time comes, you are willing to set aside your differences in order to protect the ones that you care about."

Arathell couldn't think of proper words to use for a response, but she felt her gasping breath turn into mere shudders, letting her face bury itself into the athelas scented tunic in front of her. After a few moments, her breath had returned to normal and the tears were dried on soft leather. She turned her face up at him, seeing him staring once more at the discarded figurines on the floor and on the map. "Look at me," she murmured, reaching to trace his jaw. His eyes were nervous when he looked down at her, lips pursed into a thin line. At that moment, she knew that his hope was dwindling at best and it tore at her to see it. She didn't know how to fix it, wishing more than anything that it could be something that was within her power to heal. "We'll be at home," she finally whispered with a last gasping breath from her tears. "That's much more than what others have had. Many of Edoras passed on at Helm's Deep, and Boromir away from his home and Haldir… all of those Elves, away from their trees, away from their families. We will be home, Aragorn. If nothing else they cannot take that away."

Aragorn nodded slowly and Arathell pulled away from his chest to push her forehead on his temple. She watched him close his eyes, taking deep, uneven breaths. "This has been my fate for so long," he commented hoarsely. "And I appear too late to make a difference."

Arathell swept her fingers through his hair and felt him lean into her touch. "My love, you already have made more of a difference than anyone could have ever hoped for, including you. Thanks to you, Men are reunited once more, both from Gondor and Rohan. They have found their leader. They have pride in their hearts." She paused, turning his face to look in his eyes. "They remind me of Gondor in her days of beauty," she commented. He looked so unsure at that moment, not knowing if she was merely trying to comfort him. "Their heads are held high and their hearts are strong. That is because of you, Aragorn. It was not Théoden who did this. And it was not Éomer. Not even Gandalf has given them this, and it certainly is not me. You've given them something that they are willing to die for. They aren't waiting in the shadows like cowards, but actively seeking to go with their honor."

He smiled grimly. "I love you so much, Arathell," he remarked.

"And it isn't time for goodbyes yet, my King," she retorted with a smile but saw that his returning one was nowhere near his eyes. Carefully, and almost with a hint of trepidation, she moved her lips onto his, feeling him sigh against her touch. Her hand pushed more into his hair, pulling him closer as she opened her mouth to him, greeting his fatigued one with a gentle touch. Still feeling him barely respond, she pulled away for a moment, playfully glaring at him. "Tonight is not the night to neglect this," she teased.

"I am not going to have you here in a tent, Arathell," he retorted, but she felt his arms meander around her waist, pulling her into him against his chest.

"And I don't want to be had in a tent, Aragorn," she relayed with an eye roll. "But that does not mean that you can't kiss me properly."

"It doesn't seem right," he murmured.

She sighed and nuzzled his cheek with her nose. "My potential last night with you is not going to be spent moping," she grumbled. He gave her an incredulous look, openly mocking her childish behavior. Arathell could only roll her eyes before taking his lips with hers. He did nothing to fight against her, but she could feel his hesitation. She groaned and pulled away, glaring at him. "I'm going to be selfish for a moment," she warned. "I need this, Aragorn. I need to… to feel you love me, and I need you to feel me love you. It isn't a want," she continued, thinking back to months ago now when they fought about the proper definitions of the two words. "I may want you, but I need you more." He still looked uncertain but she felt his hands tighten just slightly around her hips. "You promised me you would care more for my needs than my wants."

"Arathell," he muttered, exasperated, running a hand through his hair.

"No more worries tonight. It's just us," she persuaded, leaning in and kissing him again, feeling his lips respond ever-so-slightly to her touch. Encouraged, she took his hand and led it to her hair where it took no time to begin twirling furiously. Arathell nearly smiled against his lips but refrained, not wanting to scare him off. She continued to kiss him ever-so-gently, feeling all of a sudden a dam breaking or a cord snapping as he fully surrendered, sighing into her mouth and latching onto her hair with much more vigor.

The anxious, forlorn King had been tucked away at last and her Man had made his appearance, staking his claim and dueling her tongue as he would an enemy. It was not a sweet kiss and it was not even one that would properly confer the love that he felt for her. At this moment, he was dominating, exacting what little control he had over his environment and abusing it to the point where she could feel her lips swell up.

When she couldn't breathe, Arathell pulled back gasping, only to have her hand taken and tugged on until they reached his more extensive bedroll lavished in furs. She fell backwards on it with a huff, only feeling his warmth join her a second later, lips insistent on hers once more.

She lost count quickly of how many times she moaned his name, his lips traveling on their conquering crusade along her exposed skin, making his claims and fortifying his territory with fresh pink bruises. Her neck must have looked barbaric, but the pleasure his scratchy scruff gave her tender skin made her shiver even more with want and reach to tug harshly on his hair. Arathell pulled him back up to her, his body encasing her own in a shield, decorated with steel eyes that were shimmering with intensity. One of his hands rested possessively on her hip, pressing into her so hard that half of her sunk into the furs. She gave his collar a fierce tug, kissing him once more and feeling the very ends of her toes come to life as he persisted in laying claim to the insides of her mouth. Her tongue was a white flag but he beat upon it incessantly, making her whimper.

Aragorn's hand moved from her waist to latch onto her hair, pulling it back so that he arched even more over her as they kissed. When he finally pulled his lips away, she was panting and shifting with an uncomfortable want buried in her belly. By the Valar, she wanted him so desperately at that moment that she was unsure if she would really care if he had her in a tent for their first time.

His fingers, before so demanding, made to twirl in her strands once more before he reclined off of her entirely, lying on his side to face her. Arathell rolled over immediately to face him and pushed her forehead onto his as he continued to play with her hair. "Are you sure that this was enough?" he murmured.

She smiled sadly, wondering where her ferocious Man and hungry Ranger had gone. Before her now was the tender King, full of love and devotion to her and even without the fire in his eyes, she found him no less beautiful. "It's more than what I had ever hoped for before," she told him. "I'm happier now than I think I ever have been. It may not last for as long as I want it to, but I had it. It's enough," she eased, bumping her nose with his. He returned the sad smile.

"Forever." It wasn't a question anymore, and she loved that. Now, it was a statement, a commandment that they would live and die by, both knowing the agreement and signing away their hearts and undying love to each other.

Her smile brightened. "Always," she agreed.

Yes, it was enough.

* * *

 **Like I said, extra long chapter full of the happy romance to make up for my tardiness. I am definitely going to try to make sure that it doesn't happen again. Two nights – that's just awful.**

 **Please leave a review? Even if it is to yell at me? Hehe?**

 **Check out the music! It is quite pretty!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	73. Chapter 73

**Hello, everyone! Thank you for the reviews – didn't get to hear from many of ya, but that's okay. Haha just paying for that last chapter being posted a little late. Luckily, this one is on time! And OH MY HEAVENS. I have been waiting to share this chapter with you guys for so long. A lot of you have made inquiries, and I am ever so happy to finally give this to you all. This is a very beloved chapter for me so… maybe a little shared love for it?**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Starlight - Slash featuring Myles Kennedy and The Conspirators

"Oh Starlight, don't you cry we gonna make it right before tomorrow  
Oh Starlight, don't you cry we're gonna find a place where we belong (where we belong)  
And so you know, we'll never shine alone"

* * *

 **March 18, 3019 – Dunharrow**

Arathell couldn't have been sure when it was that she had fallen asleep, or even when he had. All she knew was that her peaceful slumber was suddenly finished and a loud grunt snapped her into wakefulness. She sat up instantly, hand falling to her side for her dagger, only to see that Aragorn already had his withdrawn and was panting heavily. A quick look to the flap of the tent signaled the entrance of one of Rohan's Men, looking curious under his helmet. "My lord and lady," he said lightly. "King Théoden awaits you." He didn't waste any time backing out of the tent, leaving her and Aragorn alone again.

Her hands fell onto his tense shoulders and she pressed her lips onto one of his shoulder blades. "It was only a dream," she murmured, hand traveling to delicately play with his hair. "It is over now."

His larger hand fell on top of hers, squeezing her tighter to him before taking the hand and bringing it to his lips where he placed a fearsome kiss on the back. From his display, she did not need to guess what it had been that he was dreaming about and her heart panged for him.

"I'm here, my love," she whispered, giving him a reciprocating kiss on his shoulder blade. "Come away from your nightmares now. The King needs us." He released a shuddering sigh but stood from the cot and pulled her up with him. "What do you suppose he needs?" she asked conversationally, anything to remove his mind from whatever fear he had just encountered.

"It is nearly dawn," Aragorn drawled, his voice heavy with sleep but after a splash of water from the small basin in his face he seemed much calmer. "Most likely Théoden is wishing to go over the plans once more to ensure that everything happens as it needs to."

Arathell nodded, having assumed as much for herself, though she was particularly curious as to why she would also be needed for such a meeting, as she had not been there directly to make the battle plans. Nevertheless, given whatever nightmare Aragorn had had, she trusted that he would want her within his line of vision for the foreseeable future and it wasn't in her to disregard that.

They emerged from his tent together, Aragorn taking drowsily long strides towards the King's tent just a ways from their own.

When he pulled back the flap, her eyes were instantly drawn to a sitting figure, cloaked in a rich blue material, and she felt her heart stiffen for a moment in her chest. Théoden was staring inquisitively at the silent companion, but he seemed to be making no sorts of progress. This meeting was not for what either Aragorn or she had supposed and now her hesitance to even be within the tent itself was growing.

"I take my leave," the King commented once he noticed that the two of them had finally entered. He walked toward the two of them, pausing for a moment to nervously look at Aragorn and then at her before leaving completely.

Her eyes fell back on the stranger, but the feeling in her heart was morphing ever-so-slightly as she recognized the wind-worn hands that rested on the stranger's knees.

He stood, tall and proud and with all of the bearings of one who was lordly, and as he reached to remove his hood, she gasped, knowing whose face would be lying underneath it.

"Father!" she exclaimed while Aragorn bowed low with surprise whilst addressing him.

Elrond smiled at her and with tears in her eyes, she ran up to him and embraced him, laughing merrily at the sight of him. "Ada, you cannot know of the strength it gives me to see your face again," she murmured, feeling her father's hands tenderly stroke down her tresses before kissing her temple.

"My daughter," he cooed, pulling back and resting his hand on her face, tears in his own eyes. "I suspect that whatever strength you have garnered pales in comparison to my relief of seeing you." Arathell smiled widely and cupped his hand harder to her cheek, closing her eyes in peace and nearly forgetting about the Man behind her.

She felt, rather than saw, her father's attention turn to Aragorn, and it was then that she opened her eyes and swiveled to face Aragorn, standing alongside her father and looking up at the Elven lord almost every other second, afraid that he would disappear if she looked away for too long. "I come on behalf of one whom I love," he started, a new batch of tears in his eyes. He looked down at her for a moment, and she cocked her head to the side in question. "Arwen is dying," he stated.

Both she and Aragorn stiffened. "Legolas –" Aragorn started.

"Will be told momentarily," Elrond finished. "She will not long survive the evil that spreads from Mordor," he continued, and it was then that she noticed that he was looking wearier than Arathell believed she had ever seen him. "The light of the Evenstar is fading." Arathell thought of the jewel that Legolas wore, thinking of its precious starlight, stifled and contained in the horrors within Middle Earth and now forcibly unable to break free from its cage to ascend back to the stars. Her sister was trapped here, but despite their disagreements, Arathell knew Arwen. And she knew Arwen well enough to know that Arwen was staying in Middle Earth for a reason. Arwen had hope, and moreover she had love for one who would not leave yet. Arwen had unwittingly tied herself to the quest of the Fellowship, resting all of her future on the fate of one small chance. With Mordor's ever-growing strength, Arathell could understand the weakening of her sister, and it made her fearful. "As Sauron's power grows, her strength wanes," her father carried on, confirming Arathell's fears. "Arwen's life is now tied to the fate of the Ring. The Shadow is upon us. The end has come," he said dejectedly.

"Not a Shadow," Aragorn was quick to disagree, making eye contact with her instantly when she flinched from the name. "Merely a dark cloud that will pass eventually. It will not be our end but his." Arathell's brow softened, thinking of only hours ago the Man she held in her arms, wracked with fear and guilt for being unable to accomplish more. Now, he was a King, hiding his fears and being strong for even one so knowing as her father. Part of her was satisfied that he felt comfortable relinquishing his guard around her while the other part was only filled with pride now that she looked at him, the love of her life.

"You ride to war, but not to victory," her father dissuaded, and now she pivoted to look at him.

"Do not take his hope," she whispered. "I have none to give him if he should run out. Please let him have his hope, Father."

Elrond looked at her for barely a moment before sighing and continuing. Aragorn had remained silent, and Arathell knew that he had already come to the same conclusions that her father had. Elrond moved around her to stand more directly in front of Aragorn and she moved to stand next to him, staring up at her father. "Sauron's armies march on Minas Tirith. This you know, but in secret he sends another force which will attack from the River. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South. They will be at the city in two days. You're outnumbered, Aragorn. You need more Men."

"There are none," the Man beside her argued, unable to muster enough pride to defend their tarrying number. Arathell frowned, wishing she could fully embrace him now as she wished, though with her father present, she was unsure of how he would react.

"There are those who dwell in the Mountain," her father slowly suggested.

Her eyes flew widely to her father in surprise. "Father, no," she snapped. "What can they do but maim those who bother them? They broke their promises made to Gondor's King long ago. Who is to say that they even remember making such a promise now in their ruin?"

"Murderers! Traitors!" Aragorn agreed. "You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing! They answer to no one!"

"They will answer to the King of Gondor," Elrond commanded and when she opened her mouth to argue once more, her father silenced them both when he threw his cloak open, a long sheath appearing before their eyes.

A gasp was torn from her throat and her hand covered her mouth. "Is that –?"

"The forged shards of Narsil, the blade of Gondor's savior," her father agreed. "It belongs to you, Aragorn, should you choose to take it."

Her eyes watered again as she watched Aragorn approach the legendary blade, taking it and flipping it to carefully rest his hand upon the hilt. "Sauron will not have forgotten the Sword of Elendil," he murmured. She stepped forward just as he withdrew the blade, and her mouth fell open as her eyes followed the burning glint of the iron all the way to the proud tip.

"Oh, my love," she purred, only realizing her words after they came from her lips. He turned his head to look at her a little and with her gift she saw the hope that had been dwindling so low suddenly rekindled. It swam in his stormy eyes like a hurricane, powerful and daunting and it made her shiver to see it. It was passion and it was determination in their purest forms and Arathell could not think of anything more beautiful than the command she saw in his eyes. With that one look, she was ordered to go with him, a King of Men, proud and stoic and fearless.

"Its name?" Aragorn asked, glancing at Elrond out of the corner of his eye. Her father only stared at him, waiting. "Andúril," Aragorn finally supplied, "The Flame of the West." She smiled, looking back at the shine of the blade and thinking that there was no better name for it. With the endearment already proclaimed in her father's presence, Arathell walked up closer to him, leaning her side into his. "The Blade that was Broken shall return to Minas Tirith," he proclaimed.

"The Man that can wield the power of this sword can summon an army to him more deadly than any that walks this earth," her father rushed, proud perhaps of the makeshift son and his realization of self-worth. "Put aside the Ranger. Become who you were born to be. Take the Dimholt Road." Aragorn looked suddenly reluctant again, staring at the ground with the question seared into his mind. "I give my hope to Men," Elrond murmured in Sindarin and her eyes floated up to her father before looking back at Aragorn with a tender smile.

"I keep none of it for myself," Aragorn replied in kind. He sighed. "Your daughter could make use of such a hope," he stated, gesturing to her.

Elrond smiled, slightly smug when he looked down at her. "I believe she is closer to it than she knows." Arathell blushed as Aragorn sheathed his sword again. "You have found him now, haven't you?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes and leaving no room for argument.

She nodded slowly. "I thank the Valar that he waited for one as stubborn as me," she replied in Sindarin.

"Some are meant more for each other than others," Elrond answered. "Your love has been a sight in my eyes for many long years, even before his birth." Now Aragorn blushed, no doubt thinking of their great difference in age. Elrond sighed. "You have grown much, my daughter. I can see it in your smile."

Arathell found herself sniffling and she embraced her father once more. "I am so happy that you are here with me, Ada," she whispered into his chest. "I finally feel as though I can truly make amends. Though it may not mean much now, please tell Arwen that I miss her and that the folly was my own. I have no one to blame but myself. Please tell her that I love her, Father. I'm afraid that she may have forgotten in my silence."

"I have a letter," he said, withdrawing a piece of parchment and handing it to her. "I'm sure she will be much appreciative of your words. Unfortunately, my time with you grows thin now, my daughter. Now I can rest knowing that you have become the woman…" he paused on the word, making her blush again and look at Aragorn who merely looked proud, "that you were always meant to be."

The thought of her father leaving again, as soon as he arrived, was terrifying to her, and she held onto him all the more, loath to release him. "I don't want this to be the last time I ever see you," she cried.

"That is not for either of us to decide, Arathell," he mentioned. He pulled away from her and wiped at the tears that had stubbornly made it out of her brown eyes. "Your mother always marveled at your eyes," he said lightly, as if he was lost in a thought. Arathell could think of the moment she departed with her mother for forever and the remarks made at that goodbye. "Eventually she gleaned from me that there was more to your future than the life of an Elf. I never told her who it would be that would capture your heart, but she knew that you would grow to be Woman someday."

"She named me as a Sister," Arathell questioned.

His lips wavered. "How else could we remind you of your family and the love we bore for you? How else could you remember the ones you left to be with the one you loved?"

More tears fell from her eyes and she hugged him close to her again. "I will always love you, Father. And I will forever love my brothers and my sister. They loved me first and they stood beside me for the longest of times. Just because of the love I have for Aragorn is… it does not mean that all of the years I have spent at your side have been for lack of a less powerful love. Please tell my brothers and sister that."

"I will tell your sister," Elrond agreed with a nod.

"And Elrohir and Elladan as well?" she demanded, pulling back a little.

"They wait to hear the words directly," Elrond explained, gesturing to the outside of the tent. Her eyes widened in surprise and she fought the urge to run out of the tent immediately, wondering what her father would do then. "I must take my leave, darling daughter. But first, I must speak with Legolas. Your sister has a letter meant for his eyes only, and I swore to her that I would give him this."

Arathell was on the verge of sobbing now, terrified of the second goodbye she would have to deliver. Even with turbulence in their relationship, Arathell loved her father with everything in her soul and she only wished for his happiness. She craved his presence and his warmth just like she craved the sunshine. Even if, by some miracle, she and Aragorn would survive this war, and even if the Ring was destroyed and happiness was given its moment, she would still have to say farewell to her father. A part of her wanted to run back into Aragorn's tent and wait for fifty years to see if her father would stay with her, but she knew that he wouldn't. He had his duties, and Lord Elrond was nothing if not an architect of this war, reigning beside Gandalf and Aragorn as its chief leaders and commanders. She was like him in that way, she supposed – never able to turn her back on the cause, even when she knew that it was pointless to try.

"I'm afraid," she meekly cried, only really realizing now just how fearful she was for the upcoming days. She had told Aragorn that it was enough – what they had was real and that was more than what many people had. But faced with death, she knew that she did not want to die. And she did not want Aragorn to die. She wanted more with him than what the world was offering and it stung her in ways that she didn't even know existed. "I'm not ready."

Elrond kissed her forehead and pet her hair, fingers settling on the circlet she had forgotten to remove before she had fallen asleep with Aragorn. "Yes, you are."

He began making his way to leave the tent, but as he passed Aragorn, the Ranger's hand grasped her father's forearm, staring soulfully at him. "The scar of Angmar's blade," Aragorn drawled. "Why were you not there? Why were you not beside her – protecting her?"

"Aragorn –" she interrupted, sniffling still from the inevitable but paused goodbye.

Elrond held up his hand, not looking at her. He appeared calm in her eyes, as if he had been waiting for the question since the birth of her scar to begin with. "I had seen it – her duel with him. I knew that it would happen, and I knew that if I had been there, I would have prevented it from happening at all." He paused and finally turned his gaze to look at her at last, a sad smile on his lips and pride shimmering through the tears that had not yet fallen. "But I knew that she would survive. And more importantly, she needed to know that she was capable of saving herself." Tears began falling from her eyes and she sobbed quietly. "Arathell, you have saved so many people, and I could not be more proud of you. But for once… for once I needed you to want to save yourself, to take care of yourself and place yourself before others." He looked back at Aragorn. "If I was there, a great lesson would have been ripped away from her that day. She needed to know that she could save herself. And she needed to know just as desperately that she wanted to save herself. That is why I was not there."

He did not offer any more words before he departed from the tent in search of Legolas.

Aragorn stared at her, both silently acknowledging the answer her father gave. "Are you satisfied with his answer?" she asked, wiping at her eyes bashfully.

"If you are, then I will be as well," he agreed.

Arathell shifted a little and turned away. "I'm satisfied with it."

Arms encircled her waist with a chin perched on her shoulder, nose burying itself in her neck and placing delicate kisses there in comfort. "He's right about more than that, meleth," he whispered, his breath skating on her the surface of her skin. She hiccupped over the tears, violently shaking her head in disagreement. "You _are_ ready, Arathell," he continued. "I see it in you just as you proclaim to see it in me. You have always been right: this was my destiny and I was meant to become the King Gondor needs. But you must also realize that this is just as equally your destiny – to rule beside me. Your father knew of our love for thousands of years – how could he not also know that his daughter would be a Queen?" The words were now seeping into her skin, resonating in the still slightly erratic heartbeat in her chest. The words echoed in her ears, daunting and daring to be challenged. "This is what we are meant to do."

"Oh, is it, Elessar?" she demanded, pulling herself out of his grasp and spinning around with pursed lips, framed in contempt. "Your name has been preached in age-old dreams, and what am I? Who am I if I was destined to be yours and to rule Gondor alongside you? What is my name? I'm not ready, Aragorn!"

"Ilmien," another voice interrupted and her eyes flew to the flaps of the tent where she saw two Elves march inside, fire in their eyes, stemming from pride. She recognized the harmonious voice instantly as Elrohir's, charming and dramatic.

Her mouth fell open at the word, not even trying to taste it on her tongue. Her eyes flew back and forth between the two of them, standing in her presence. "Hello, little sister," the lighter voice said gently, his grey eyes twinkling just as brightly as the name Elrohir had thrown to her. "Or is it, Your Highness now?" he teased.

A choking laugh erupted from her throat as she rushed forward to embrace them, hearing each of them laugh with deep, ancient rumbles. "You still remember how to laugh," she remarked, pulling away a little and wiping at her eyes which had yet to stop producing tears. "I thought you would forget."

Aragorn approached her, greeting her brothers with smiles and laughs, but she saw in his eyes that the conversation they had been having was not yet over. Eventually, talk fell silent and they all held close to the peace they had found within that moment. Soon it would be gone, and who knew how many moments were left?

"Ilmien," Elrohir said again and she looked at him out of the tops of her eyes, knowing that it _would_ be him to readdress the original issue. "Just as the name Elessar has waited for its owner, Ilmien has waited for you."

"No," she snapped.

"Yes," Elladan argued.

"My name is Duvainith, not…" she trailed off, still refusing to say the name.

"You were Duvainith before," Elrohir agreed, taking a step closer. "The world and all of its cruelties bent you in ways that you were never meant to be. It tore your mind at too young of an age that there was no other name for you but darkness. Your hope was ripped from you and you were left with no choice." He reached up and touched her cheek and she saw his grey eyes begin to brim with tears. "But you are different now," he said. "I see you now. We were there beside you the moment you came into this world, and only now do I see that radiant joy that I first met. You were never meant to be dark, Arathell. Ilmien has always been your true name and it gives us great happiness to see the name given to you."

Her head turned a little to look at Aragorn, properly smug and with a familiar fire in his eyes. This was a moment that he had also been waiting for with much anticipation. She could see it in his mind. He had wanted her to know her name just as she supposed everyone had waited. She nearly scoffed – if everyone knew of Aragorn's love for her then there was not a doubt in her mind that everyone was just as aware of the name her brothers had announced.

More importantly, however, she assumed that Aragorn wanted her to see her brothers in this light. As she looked at her older brothers now, kinship burned within her, eyes tracing over memorized facial features as time melted away. There wouldn't be a war tomorrow. The only thing she could see was laughing in Elladan's arms as he spun in erratic circles when she was young. She could remember the teasing smile the first time she dueled with Elrohir and the dumbstruck look he had when she first bested him. That was before the world had gotten so dark. She had quite forgotten in that darkness just how bright the world could be, only choosing to look away into the dark places of the world.

Arathell's eyes returned to Aragorn and she saw her hand reach out for him, him taking it and coming to her side with a smile. He had reminded her of the potential of this world. His eyes were brighter than any light on this earth, and his laugh made the demons in her heart cower. He reminded her of love and joy – moreover he reminded her that she was as likely to find it as anyone.

"Ilmien," Aragorn regarded and the title made her shiver, never having been attributed to the quality before, but knowing now that she rather liked it – at least when it came from his lips.

"Elessar," she returned, his smile widening before he leaned in to kiss her, even with her brothers present. She found quickly that she did not care if they saw the affection, only chuckling against his lips as she entwined her fingers in his hair, pulling him into her more. She faintly heard the harmonious laugh of her brothers and it was then that Aragorn pulled away.

"We must be off," her King stated, turning to look at her brothers with a questioning expression. With the dictatorial command, Arathell steadied herself and raised her chin to match him, feeling more Queenly now than she had ever before. Again, it was a feeling that she realized that she rather liked.

"We have come to understand that there are others of our race present in this company," Elrohir replied. "We are curious about them, and wherever they would go, we would make to join."

Arathell shook her head. "With Legolas, Gimli, and I going with Aragorn, it will already be crowded enough without the additional six of you joining. Some of them will desire to come with us, and I believe that taking two would suffice, along with one of you."

"I will go with you," Elladan dictated and Arathell nodded in acceptance.

"Which of the four were you thinking of?" Aragorn asked her.

"Brastor and Amdir," she replied easily. Aragorn gave a single nod in agreement.

"There is no longer any time to delay," he said. "Have you brought suitable mounts for the Dimholt?"

"They will suffice. We also brought another along with us," Elladan remarked, giving her a smile.

For what seemed to be the hundredth time that evening, her eyes widened and she rushed out of the tent, propriety forgotten. Her brown eyes landed on a glossy, white mare, quietly attempting to turn down the advances of her stallion counterparts. Her brothers' horses were appropriate in their behavior, but the Rohirric horses had other things on their mind besides war.

"Faerdhinen!" she exclaimed, hurrying to her mare who finally released a whinny in greeting, tossing her head in excitement. Arathell's arms wrapped around the sturdy neck of her horse and hugged her close. Faerdhinen seemed properly bothered by the showering of attention, most likely having not expected so much of it from her rider, but Arathell did not care. "Oh, mellon nin, you are the only thing that could have made this night any better. I have missed you terribly."

The mare huffed, shaking herself free at last when the embrace had apparently gone on for too long. Arathell could only laugh, reaching to scratch her horse's ear tenderly and then feeling Faerdhinen bump her long nose on Arathell's chest. Clearly Arathell had been missed too.

"She is very beautiful," a woman's voice remarked, devoid of any true admiration, or even emotion.

Arathell turned, staring at Éowyn and seeing the brokenness the girl portrayed. Arathell did not even need to ask what it was that was troubling her. "We have no choice, Éowyn. I would stay with you if I could – you must know that."

"Aragorn loves you very much," Éowyn drawled and Arathell paused, staring at her friend curiously. "I made no physical advances, but when I heard of his departure…"

Arathell shuffled awkwardly on her feet. "I was unaware that you still held feelings for him," she replied carefully. "I was also unaware that you still had hopes that he would return those feelings."

"I made no physical advances, Arathell," she snapped. "I could not contain the truth any longer. Of course I knew that my ability to turn him from you was impossible. Of course I knew that having these feelings for him would jeopardize the friendship that you and I share. If I could eradicate them, then I would. I am not a harlot." She sighed. "I am going to die, Arathell. We are – all of us – going to die. I was not about to die with a secret as profound as that within my heart. Out of all of the things that I have control over, which evidently do not include desires of the heart, my words I can influence. Forgive me for embracing one of my few remaining freedoms."

Arathell was unsure of what to say to the speech, but she found that she understood it. After another moment, she nodded slowly. "I wish I did not have to go," she murmured. "Your friendship is one that I greatly treasure and if I am never to see you again… I feel honored to have met you, Éowyn, daughter of Éomund."

"Why can you not stay?" Éowyn asked, hugging her arms to herself and looking up at Arathell with dread and despair. "You made a promise to Rohan; you told me so once outside of Edoras."

Arathell sighed and walked up to the Woman before pulling her head down to tenderly kiss her forehead. "My place will always be at his side, Éowyn," Arathell said quietly. "I am doing what I can for Rohan – I have not, nor will I ever forsake your people. But…" She turned her head to the side, spotting Aragorn talking with Legolas, Gimli, her brothers and the other Elves. They were waiting. "Gondor needs its King now, and its King needs me. Please understand, my friend."

Éowyn hesitantly nodded. "I make to ride with them tomorrow. I have kept it a secret," she mentioned.

"A very poorly kept one," Arathell retorted with a smug smile. "Both Aragorn and I guessed your purpose the moment you announced that you would be joining us to Dunharrow." Éowyn's arms unfolded and she stared up at her with wide, fearful eyes. "We do not make to tell anyone; cease your worrying. It would be rather hypocritical of me, at least, to say anything about it." She paused. "Take Merry with you if he is not permitted, and take him with you if he is. He has already had to watch too many friends leave him. He needs at least one to remain beside him when the dark hour comes. And he has taken to you very well."

Éowyn nodded again. "I will." Suddenly she sighed and gestured behind Arathell. "They are waiting for you. You should leave now."

"Nover, mellon nin," she said gently, turning her back on the Woman and mounting Faerdhinen. Even with the arrival of her mare, nothing could completely remove her sorrow at the parting. Selfishly, she had not even thought of saying goodbye to Éowyn until the moment had arrived, but now that she was forced to leave the girl, Arathell felt almost sick to her stomach. She had never truly realized how much she had come to depend on Éowyn until that very moment, and she almost wanted to drag her along as well, just to satisfy her selfish desires. Arathell was confident that there could be no greater friend.

She sidled up beside the others within her company, holding her chin high despite her sadness.

"We have made an alteration, Arathell," Aragorn stated. "This is not a journey meant for all, and it will be difficult enough as it is. Lagordir and his company, aside from Brastor have elected to remain with Rohan. Your brothers also will remain – they know Rohan and its people well enough. I am leaving my tent for them."

She looked at her older brothers, thinking that after only seeing them for the few moments since their arrival was not even close to enough. She may never see them again.

Unlike the goodbye with her father – which was likely the most ruthless and painful, she merely nodded her head tightly in agreement. "Be safe," she pleaded, looking at them both.

They only gave her watery sad smiles that said that there was no such thing as safe anymore. This was their last meeting, and there was no mistake.

Arathell did not want to hear anymore from them, leaving quickly on her horse towards the Mountain, hearing the clops of Brego and Arod behind her as well as Brastor's animal.

There were whispers everywhere, cries of betrayal and resignation bellowed in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut as Faerdhinen led her between the mountain walls, onto the Dimholt Road.

* * *

 **And there it is! We have an introduction of Arathell's Queenly name: Ilmien. I'm going to refrain FOR THE MOMENT saying what it means but… maybe there is a hint somewhere in the chapter? Please shoot me a guess – I think it'd be great fun. :D**

 **Check out the music! This one is particularly special and I have been waiting to use it specifically for this chapter since I wrote it. So… yeah, please look it up. If you do though (because some of you won't regardless of how much I plead, and that's okay), look up an acoustic version from Planet Rock on YouTube. It's absolutely beautiful.**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	74. Chapter 74

**Hey, guys! I don't have much to say before we kick off with this next chapter, but thank you so much for all of your support and kindness! You're all awesome, and keep those reviews coming! I didn't hear much about Arathell's queenly name or the fact that we have our sassy mare back and notes of Arwen! Haha that is alright though.**

 **Onward!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

End of All Days - Thirty Seconds to Mars

"I'm tired of waiting  
For the end of all days  
The prophets are preaching  
That the god are needing praise"

* * *

The paths were exceedingly narrow and after a while, Arathell soon began to feel trapped within the cold rock. Mist clouded the path and occasionally, she would think she would see an ethereal glow of something dark and terrible. She had done her best to ignore it.

Aragorn had predictably taken the lead of their group, and had been pleased by the fact that he had left her to her thoughts. With greeting her family only to part ways moments later, and her last conversation with Éowyn, her thoughts were a mess, and she couldn't even begin to ponder how she would adequately translate them into words for him to understand.

She missed her father greatly already, but having had one more moment with him was more than she ever could have hoped for. True, their farewell in Imladris had been on good terms, but this journey had been very exhausting, and in multiple ways at that. As such, having the arms of her father holding her seemed to put her back to together in a sense. And it had allowed her the ability to get Arwen the message of her forgiveness and her apology. Regardless of what Aragorn believed about her sister, Arathell did not want to die with Arwen believing that she was hated by her only sister.

Arathell affectionately touched the outer folds of the letter Arwen had written for her. She had yet to read it and had no intention to read it now in front of everyone. Part of her never wanted to read the letter, content in the possibility that only words of love would be found in the pages. It didn't matter what that part thought though; she knew that she would read it eventually.

Having her brothers nearer also hurt in a deep, panging way. Saying goodbye to her father was challenging, but he was destined to ride home, waiting for the final cloud to hit. Having her brothers close to her now, joining in on saving Middle Earth, and still not being beside her was another matter entirely. She was happy they were there, but she wanted them immediately there with her, if only to hear their voices and see their sad smiles. She would have taken anything at this moment and she would have taken it gladly.

Éowyn and Merry were another issue. Arathell hated parting from her friend, knowing that without her there, Éowyn's chances of survival were next to nothing. It wasn't that her brother and uncle wouldn't protect her; it would simply be that they wouldn't _know_ that they needed to protect her. And poor Merry was all alone now. Having Pippin pulled away from him in a foreign land was hard enough for the Hobbit, and their Fellowship got to witness first-hand how desolate he could be without his partner. Arathell couldn't bear to imagine now what he would think when he would wake to see that she and the others were gone.

Eventually, her thoughts ran away with her as she pondered where Frodo and Sam were now. Her precious Sam, so loving and careful with his Mr. Frodo… she prayed to the Valar that they were both still alive. Aragorn said that they were and that he could feel it in his heart, but Arathell had never been so good at instinct like that. And with her gift still being somewhat impaired, especially when it came to the Ring, she had no foundation to base any idea on. She could only pray that Aragorn's heart wasn't lying to him.

Of course, her thoughts often swirled back to Kara and her family. Was her daughter still alright? It had been days since she had properly checked, and for the sake of time now, Arathell wasn't sure if it was a good idea to look. Were her grandchildren still alive? Did Arabiff still know how to smile? Had Glorsha fallen in love? Had her beloved Thorent had his fill of wisdom? She prayed it all was true, but still, she could not know. And she suspected that she never would.

The clopping of horse hooves were a steady thrum to her, keeping pace with the world and keeping her flighty, worried soul anchored to the stony rock. She felt closed off here and she didn't like it, but at least there were the horse footsteps.

"You have a new mount," Brastor commented, shaking her from her stupor. She wasn't sure what to make of his conversation, knowing that he was often a quiet soul and didn't like talking if he could help it. The fact that he made the decision to randomly point out an obvious fact worried her.

"No, she has been my mare for a time. I have only just been reunited with her," Arathell replied. Brastor nodded, square jaw caught in a tight embrace with his teeth. "You are worried for Amdir," she stated, now having come to the conclusion that this could truly be the only cause for Brastor's speaking.

"He is a strong lad, despite what many think of him. I'm certain he will be alright," her companion said stiffly, not looking at her.

"How often have you been parted from him?" she asked gently, fingers sweeping tenderly through Faerdhinen's mane. Brastor did not reply to that, and with his silence she had gained his answer. "It is not a weakness to worry about those we love, Brastor," she said quietly. "He is your brother and you would be foolish not to be concerned." She scoffed. "At least you do not have so many to fret over. Nearly everyone on this journey has fallen into some form of my care, and to think that any of them could be injured or killed in the coming days is enough to drive me mad. Even you and your company I deem my responsibility."

"The four of us do not need that, Arathell," he replied at last.

"It cannot be helped, I'm afraid," she sighed. "Believe me, I would much rather have fewer people to think about now. But it seems that I have never had so many and at such an awful time, besides."

"At least you can always know where he is," Brastor mentioned, leaning his head in Aragorn's direction.

"I can't imagine my state if I didn't," she agreed with a nod. They rode on in silence for some time, Faerdhinen rocking her gently as she trotted, occasionally tossing her head high in indignation for the place. Clearly the mare thought that their reunion could have been better timed. Arathell clicked her teeth, rolling her eyes at the passive aggressiveness. She looked at Brastor's stallion, black like the night but strong. For a moment, Arathell wondered if Faerdhinen had her eyes on the stallion, but as if reading her thoughts, the mare trotted forward proudly, situating herself as close to Brego as possible. "Vain little mare," she teased, seeing Faerdhinen's ears flick back with annoyance, still clearly focused on trying to get Brego's attention.

Arathell rolled her eyes once more and looked back at Brastor who had fallen into the now narrower space just behind her. "Why did you choose to join us here?" she asked conversationally. "If you are so concerned for Amdir's safety, would it not be more prudent for you to remain at his side? What have you to gain by joining us?"

Brastor shrugged with indifference. "We owe you our lives," he said simply.

"And that corresponds to you joining – yes, naturally," she stated sarcastically. Ahead of her, Aragorn's shoulders shook a little with a chuckle.

"One of us needed to remain with you and your company should the opportunity arise to properly pay back this debt." Her eyebrows scrunched together at the thought. "I am the greatest warrior out of us four, aside from perhaps Gorthion, but his behavior with you prohibited us from allowing him to join. Also," he said louder, understanding her desire to interrupt, "All Elves know of this road and its perils. We would rather not leave the future King and Queen of Gondor alone with its… decay."

This answer was more suitable to her, though she still disliked the notion of having to be always protected. If she had truly saved the four of them, as they suggested, then they would have to know that she was more than able to take care of herself and their incessant need to inject themselves into each aspect of her life was truly unnecessary. In fact, it was actually starting to bother her.

Nevertheless, she knew better than to think that her words against Brastor, of all beings, would have gone a very long way and with each step deeper into the mountain, stealth became more needed. Silence was not exactly critical yet in their journey but… it would be needed, in any case eventually. But prolonging that encounter was certainly favorable in Arathell's eyes.

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the path fortunately widened, allowing Faerdhinen to come alongside Brego, tossing her head of pale golden hair in flirtation. Arathell almost wanted to laugh at her, thinking that with death fast approaching, Faerdhinen's only thought was to win Brego for herself.

"I had forgotten your mare's beauty," Aragorn mentioned, seeing the head toss for exactly what Faerdhinen had attempted to show.

"She would never allow me to forget it," Arathell retorted, lowering herself to pat the horse's neck. "I believe she has taken a fondness for Brego."

"Brego would be fortunate, to be sure."

"Horse like rider, I suppose," she teased, seeing him give her his crooked smile that sent her toes wriggling in her boots.

He reached out for her hand and she gave it to him without a thought. She knew more than he was letting on; he was loath to take this road. They had already discussed it and they had both vehemently agreed that the Door Under the Mountain would remain closed to them both. With this Door being their only option now, she knew how cornered he must have felt. She felt the same, and somehow she already knew that these dwellings would be nothing like the cavernous, majestic Erebor.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, just so that she would hear.

Arathell shook her head and gave his hand a squeeze when his gaze turned mournful. "You are the King, Aragorn. You are merely fulfilling the roles and demands to protect your people. I would have it no other way. I'm not angry at all."

His smile of soft, not quite reaching his eyes, and she sighed. "We do not even know if we will survive this encounter, let alone the battle afterwards."

"Leave it to me to be hopeless, Aragorn. It does not suit you in the slightest," she snapped back. He didn't seem to really acknowledge her comment, lost deep in thought though his thumb still traced the back of her hand with tenderness. "And who is to say that this venture now will be entirely fruitless?" she continued. He paused in stroking her hand, and she fought the slight smirk once she knew she had his attention. "You have the sword now, and they were Men. They are not living as they were; who knows much they thrive off of their damnation? Maybe they crave release from their prison and you shall be their deliverer."

"Do you believe that?" he asked her.

Arathell shrugged, thinking of only hours ago when he asked her the same question about their survival and future together. She had asked him then if he could believe it. "I believe that you are more than any other Man in this world, Aragorn. You have a power in you that has been there since birth. If there is any in Middle Earth that can even dream to have power over an army as vile as them, it would be you. I do not see why you should give up hope just yet. In this situation, not all of the variables are known."

Aragorn smiled at her and squeezed her hand, satisfied with her fuller answer this time. And this time, she found that she believed her own words. They were entirely factual, and perhaps that was what permitted her to have such "hopeful" thoughts.

They fell into silence then, mentally preparing themselves for whatever it was that was about to come. She honestly doubted that there could possibly be enough preparation that would allow any sort of comfort for her and her companions. Knowing that Aragorn had even seen one of these… beings… was enough to send her toes curling and the hair on the back of her neck tingling. No part of her body wanted to be here, and it was a very great struggle to remind her mind that it was here for Aragorn.

She supposed that her heart wasn't wrong in desiring nothing more than to be next to him.

"What kind of army would linger in such a place?" Gimli's throaty voice suddenly asked. Clearly, he did not care for this Road much either.

"One that is cursed," Legolas answered, breathing with the enchantment of the Dimholt, mesmerized by the invisible. Arathell had taken care to purposefully close her mind away to anything else present here. The voices and minds of rotting, dead corpses would never be things she would want imprinted in her thoughts. Likely, she would have to hear them and see them, but they would not infiltrate more than she allowed. "Long ago, the Men of the Mountain swore an oath to the last King of Gondor, to come to his aid – to fight." Arathell's eyes fell on Aragorn – his smile was gone as his eyes dove into each crack and crevice, looking for more death. One look into his thoughts, and she knew that all he could see was the being he had already witnessed. The light was growing fainter now. The time was almost upon them.

Legolas continued gravely, "But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the Mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest, until they had fulfilled their pledge. Who shall call upon them in the grey twilight, the Forgotten People, an heir to him to whom an oath they swore? From the North, he shall come. Need shall drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of Dead."

"Enough," she demanded, feeling coldness in her bones. Aragorn's face was more pensive than she had ever seen before. Lips mushed together in concentration, hearing the echoes of Legolas' words, no doubt. "You leave your mind too vulnerable, Prince," she hushed. "Those words were not your own."

"Their words are hard to silence," Brastor growled, glaring at the mountain walls. "You may have the privilege of locking such darkness from your mind, but not us."

"I hear nothing," Gimli commented.

"And you would not," Brastor agreed stiffly. "These are minds with thousands of years – perhaps only like-minded individuals are graced with their words."

"Surely their potency would affect all?" Gimli continued.

"Dwarven minds are very robust, Gimli," Arathell soothed. Her eyes then turned to Aragorn.

He didn't need her to ask. "I cannot hear their thoughts, but their anger is very real in my mind. They are… lost. Legolas was true when he named them Forgotten." He blinked and then looked back at her and she saw the spark of starlight in his eyes again. "I do believe you were correct, meleth nin; there is hope yet for this quest. Andúril shall not fail me today, and with you by my side, I do not think hope will ever forsake me."

With his conviction, Arathell nodded firmly, everyone falling silent then as they approached the Paths of the Dead. What horrors would be beyond there, she could not know. But perhaps there was truth to Aragorn's words, and with Andúril, how likely was he really to fail? And with that dancing flame in his grey eyes, he looked like a King, daring any to challenge him. He was ready for the demons, and it gave her courage.

They did not ride on for much longer before they were required to dismount. The others struggled to tug along their stallions, but Faerdhinen, as if suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation, walked forward carefully but without prompting. She was very quiet.

The trees here were gnarled with decay, clawing their way for escape from the crevice they had found themselves in. Evidently, they had died trying.

A small clearing lay just in front of them, and from there, she could see the darkness of one great hole, a pit of shame without a door, yet an entrance nonetheless. What was beyond that threshold, she would have been fine being ignorant of, but this was the way of the crumbling world. Do what little was possible to live for as long as possible, and discomfort and fear be damned.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away," Gimli muttered, his words even taking refuge in the back of his throat, sounding quiet and raspy.

Ristor was already drawn from its sheath, finding no pale light to glimmer upon and looking just as forlorn about the prospect of this venture. Ristor would be helpless here; only Andúril would hold any command.

They walked just several steps more before they indeed arrived at the entrance. Crude carvings were pierced into the stone made long ago. "The Way is shut," Legolas translated. "It was made by those who are Dead. And the Dead keep it. The Way is shut."

A gust of disturbingly cold air burst from the tunnel, dust driven into her mouth. The horses screamed at the ghostly echo of the sound, leaping and running away from their masters. Faerdhinen tugged hard at her, urging her to join the safety the other horses provided, but Arathell gave a sharp tug. With the dust vaporizing into fear in her lungs, she pulled on the harness around her mare's head. "Find the others and lead them to the other side of the Mountain," she ordered, looking into the mystic, rich eyes of her companion. "It is said there is a door near the River – meet us there." Arathell threw the reins at Faerdhinen and watched as her horse nervously trotted away after the others, task clearly set out in her intelligent mind.

It terrified Arathell to suddenly be without her mare. Even though she had gone so long without Faerdhinen, the thought of leaving her now to whatever demise struck a different kind of fear. Her father and brothers had ensured her protection and care before – now she was subject to whatever evil dwell outside of these wretched paths.

Aragorn's sturdy voice brought her back to the present as they all turned back to look at the menacing door. "I do not fear Death," he growled, holding his sword high before taking long, sweeping strides into the tunnels. The swish of his cloak molded into the darkness and even with her Elven vision, she struggled to still see. Without pausing for a moment, Arathell charged in after him.

She found Aragorn with a torch a moment later, having taken some shards of rock to make a flame at the end of it. "It seems too easy," she murmured.

"Whether that is how it seems or not, we have no choice but to press on," he argued. She pursed her lips at the answer. She knew he was right in his statement, but the fear she had for this place was growing more and more by the minute, and had it not been for his need to be here, Arathell likely never would have come. He seemed to sense her fear and soon reached out to take her hair in his dirty fingers, twirling the strands. They danced their way to the center of her circlet, lingering there for a moment before running down her cheek, jaw and neck to settle on Rhetar on her breast. His palm pushed hard on the jewel, moving over just slightly next to land on her scar. "They are not your greatest enemies," he said simply, pushing harder at her old wound. "I will protect you, Arathell."

"I do not care for my own safety, Aragorn," she disagreed quickly, though she knew that it was a partial lie. This was not how Arathell, daughter of Elrond, cared to die. "I care more for the possible inability to convince them of our need," she whispered, hearing the rustle of more clothes as the others approached, Gimli last.

"They will listen to what I have to say," he commanded, firm and unafraid.

With his conviction, Arathell kept herself from voicing too many of her concerns. He needed strength for what he was endeavoring to accomplish and her negative thoughts on the matter would not help him in the slightest.

With the others poised at Aragorn's command, they moved deeper into the tunnels, her eyes adjusting to the dark to see more clearly the evil that this Mountain contained. They were not alone.

They moved through the darkness with wary anticipation, Arathell confident that any moment now would be her last. The path wound through the rock, piles of well-preserved skulls blocking certain routes. By the Valar, she hated this place. All potential of hope that she had once had before was swept away like the dust on the skulls.

"What is it?" Gimli hoarsely whispered, axe poised to strike at any second. "What do you see?"

"I see shapes of Men," Legolas breathed, enchanted once more by the thrall of the Mountain.

"And of horses," Brastor added darkly.

"Where?" Gimli exclaimed, Arathell stopping just behind Aragorn and nervously resting her hand on the small of his back.

"Pale banners like shreds of clouds," Legolas continued. "Spears rise like winter thickets through a shroud of mist."

Arathell could see the shapes as well, pale and thin. Jutting bones pierced through decomposed skin, all embraced by armor now too big for their bones. Many were eyeless, deep sockets of black anger being the only things she could see. Others had milky eyes that pierced through every article of herself, and she felt more exposed than she ever had before. Their ancient weapons still glinted a little at the touch of Aragorn's flame, a promise of death for when the time came. For now, they would watch her companions' fear, toying.

She redirected her gaze onto Aragorn's back, taking deep and steadying breaths as she followed him.

"The Dead are following," Legolas continued. A pause filled the air. "They have been summoned," his voice echoed, normal and now firm with accuracy. The steps behind her moved faster towards her and Aragorn as they moved quicker through the tunnels.

"The Dead?" Gimli repeated loudly. "Summoned? I knew that. Very good – Legolas!" Heavy footfalls echoed as the Dwarf hurried to catch up to them.

They paused for a moment once they came to a bed of mist, swirling in excitement. Aragorn met her gaze, and she knew that he was concerned for her, even with his mind preoccupied with this task. She gave him a nod and plunged into the mist first.

It was cold.

Visions of hands reached up towards her form, embracing her with their frozen chill. It seeped into her bones and made her shiver, but she pressed on, seeing the others mimicking her actions. She swept at the hands, thinking of how small they appeared without their skin. "Can you see?" she whispered, looking back at Aragorn.

He nodded once while Gimli emitted a very vehement "Yes!"

"Do not look down," Aragorn suddenly commented.

She pursed her lips and turned her gaze to the ceiling, comforting cobwebs being the only form of décor. With every footfall however, there was rustling of something hard, much like rocks. Gimli's harder steps resounded with stately crunching and she grimaced. "Bones?" she assumed.

"Skulls," Brastor confirmed.

"Naturally, yes," she agreed sarcastically, her wit now being her only real defense with Ristor and Finelleth on her back being so dreadfully useless.

"It is clearer over there," Brastor noted, pointing to another dark corridor, but thankfully the mist had not permeated that space.

Arathell nodded to herself in determination and moved with speed to that place, the others appearing at her side a moment later and Aragorn with his torch taking the lead again.

They ran then, more eager than ever for this venture to be finished, regardless of its ending.

The path widened and eventually bloomed into a large chamber. Her eyes went straight for the top, looking for any form of light and finding none. Yet here there was an ethereal glow that moved like a current through the chamber. One wall was in decay, reminiscent of a once living people with makeshift windows and fine carvings now gone wrong. Was this how Kara found Erebor?

The smell of death was still heavy in the air, the Dead holding onto their blemished past with vigor. There were more spirits here and it no longer matter where she looked – they had made a distinct circle around her companions. She doubted yet again that Aragorn and Gimli could see their warped and disfigured faces.

"Who enters my domain?" Arathell's blood turned colder than ice when the raspy purr twisted its way into her ears. Her eyes closed at the sound, and she had the urge to run like she did when she first encountered the Ring. Only now, there was nowhere to run.

When she opened her eyes and looked to the simple stairs, she saw a being, green in his color and with wind moving through rare pieces of hair. On his head was a hard metal crown, squeezing the skin-bearing skull. Milky eyes were glaring at them and decomposing hands were clenched into fists. She could see through the being, all things that once made him Human gone. This thing was without a doubt what Aragorn had seen before, and now she almost regretted demanding him to tell her of it.

"One who will have your allegiance," Aragorn replied heartily and in a whisper that dared to be tried. Despite the pride she always felt when Aragorn came into his Kingly role, her eyes were glued to the King of the Dead, occupied with the last malevolence that followed him into death. This was the thing that betrayed Gondor once – she would not make the assumption that it would not do so again. Every move would be watched carefully – he was not to be trusted.

"The Dead do not suffer the living to pass," he replied, a red cape become clearer as he manifested himself in the best way he was able. Now he looked even more menacing, as if blood was flooding from every pore, embracing him like an old friend and protecting him from the misfortunes of the living.

"You will suffer me," Aragorn growled.

The Dead gave a throaty laugh, face gaunt with the little skin remaining being pulled away and taking away any sign of life. It made her heart hurt in her chest, squeezing it so hard she felt it would climb into her throat and out of her mouth in attempts to escape.

More beings manifested around them, a city of green taking shape along with them. They proudly broadcasted their numbers, circling them and waiting for their leader to give the final command. Oh, what fun they would have this day with five living creatures daring their strength and abilities.

"The way is shut," the Dead King drawled and they all spun back around to stare at him. She could feel the fear emanating from her companions, but she pushed herself closer to Aragorn, once more resting her hand on the small of his back. If they were to die now, it would not matter if the Dead knew of their relations, and if they survived, it would not matter anyway. "It was made by those who are Dead. And the Dead keep it." They were completely surrounded now and with little hope left of the negotiation going well. "The way is shut," he continued, stalking up to their group. The five of them banded closer together and she noticed Legolas had his bow drawn with an arrow poised to shoot. She wanted to laugh at the pitiful attempt. "Now you must die."

Legolas fired his arrow, aiming it straight for the Dead King's forehead which only parted to let the arrow glide through without hindrance. It clattered on the ground somewhere behind him, useless.

"I summon you to fulfill your oath," Aragorn demanded, stalking away from her hand and towards the King, unafraid.

"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" he retorted, reaching his sword hand high and bringing it down on Aragorn. She gasped at the clang when Andúril blocked the blow, hand cupping her mouth in sudden fear. She felt her body shake, blood moving swiftly through her form as she prayed to the Valar harder than she ever had in her life. "That line was broken!" he wheezed, staring up at Aragorn with milky eyes.

Aragorn reached forward bravely and took his throat, hands connecting with tissue and placed the blade against his neck. She heard the King gasp at the touch. "It has been remade," her lover retorted proudly. He shoved hard at the other King, throwing him off. Silence reigned for a moment as the Dead took a moment to understand exactly who was in their domain. For a moment, she felt herself give in to the possibility that Aragorn may persuade them. "Fight for us, and regain your honor," he started. "What say you?" he drawled, stalking up to others and daring their traitorous forms to commit to his cause. He held Andúril high, threatening and waiting. "What say you?" he asked louder.

"Ah, you waste your time, Aragorn," Gimli muttered darkly. "They had no honor in life; they have none now in death."

"I am Isildur's heir," Aragorn continued, ignoring Gimli. "Fight for me," he asked again, jutting his blade out to them and swinging it in a wide arc, demonstrating his dominance now over all present. "And I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you?" he asked again, snapping at the Dead King.

Laughter filled the chamber and the Dead started molding back into the stone walls, the Dead King being the last to finally leave. "You have my word!" Aragorn tried once more. "Fight, and I will release you from this living death! What say you?!"

"Stand, you traitors!" Gimli barked, though they continued disappearing into dust around them, hiding in the shadows like predators waiting for the right moment to consume their prey.

"Aragorn," she sighed, starting to move to him but suddenly stopping when the mist was swept away from the ground and a harsh wind burst through the cavern. The ground shook violently and she groaned, realizing now her misinterpretation. The Dead meant for her and the others to be buried by the Mountain.

Skulls shivered out of more nooks and crannies, sounding hollow as they rolled mockingly to her feet, soulless eyes sockets laughing with maniacal glee. Dust from high places cascaded down like sheets as the great wall beside her quivered in anticipation. It then ceremoniously burst from the middle, an avalanche of skulls pouring from the makeshift tomb to swarm over them.

"Out!" Aragorn yelled before charging away. Arathell followed without question, breath labored in her now dusty lungs as she fought through the swarm, practically swimming in this sea of remains. They fought their way through the flood, and she vaguely heard Aragorn yell something, but she couldn't hear properly. Echoing clanging of bony heads reverberated off of every wall, deafening all other sounds.

* * *

 **There is the chapter! Please let me know what you think and if you have any guesses for what Arathell's queenly name means. Recall that it is "Ilmien."**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	75. Chapter 75

**Hi lovelies! Sorry it has taken me some time responding to your reviews! Honestly, that probably won't happen until tomorrow, but I have read them and they are much appreciated to be sure.**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

The Story - Brandi Carlile

"All of these lines across my face  
Tell you the story of who I am  
So many stories of where I've been  
And how I got to where I am  
But these stories don't mean anything  
When you've got no one to tell them to  
It's true... I was made for you"

* * *

 _Echoing clanging of bony heads reverberated off of every wall, deafening all other sounds_.

They pushed through however, coming to a path sheltered from the onslaught. For a moment, she considered it a waterfall and she was fortunate now to stand behind it, looking out at the dusty foam of the skulls crashing down in metaphorical splashes and waves beyond.

They kept pushing forward, Arathell blind to all else but the next footstep she would make. Loud crashes resounded from behind her as the Mountain caved on itself. The sound only pushed her legs faster until a shocking bright light erupted in her vision.

Her pupils shrunk at the assault, and her chest heaved as they staggered to a stop on the hill. Somehow, they had made it out of the Mountain alive. She coughed up the dust, hearing the others mimic the action, but it could still have been the echoes of the tunnels that caused her to think this. Her heartbeat was booming in her ears, as if amazed by the fact it was still alive and pumping. Her whole body tingled, heart running loudly through her form to assure that all parts were still in place.

When her breath slowed and her heart calmed at its satisfied evaluation, her eyes adjusted to the light. The River Anduin sat just there down the hill. This was not the same river she had taken months ago with her Fellowship. It was desolated with black smoke, plumes of it rising from the destroyed town that surrounded it. Piercing through the river were at least one dozen black ships. Holey masts were sharp as knives, slicing at the River with purpose.

These were not allies.

Her eyes went instantly to Aragorn, watching with sadness as he fell to his knees. Words would not comfort him now, and she suspected that nothing would. All of his hope had been placed on a legend and disappointment at his failure would be all he could take notice of.

Nevertheless, she crouched down beside his collapsed form, tangling her arm and hand with his, though he did not return the gesture. She pushed her lips onto his sagging shoulder, feeling tears sting her eyes at his dismay. He was broken. And she did not know how to put him back together. His head fell, falling onto hers with a painful thud, but she dared not push him away now. Why could she not be there to help his tattered thoughts? He had been a balm to all of her hurts, healing each part of her with smiles and soft words and gentle touches. How could she not help him now? Why could she not know how to ease his pain like he eased hers?

Beside them, though no one paid it any mind, a great, black sphere lay encased in the hard ground. Reflective almost like her grandmother's Mirror, the black of it sucked all color out, burying it deep in itself. Arathell knew its name without having to ask – the Stone of Erech. Half submerged while still erected as tall as a Man, this rock held significance.

"Ask again, Aragorn," she murmured to him, staring at the Stone.

He paused and looked at her carefully before following her gaze to the Stone. Aragorn sighed, but stood and walked to the stone, commanding it. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir and your last chance of hope. Fight for me and rid this world of Sauron's darkness, and I will deem your oath fulfilled. Fight for me and you will have the peace you have craved. Elessar does not break his promises."

A loud hissing of wind broke her thoughts and startled Aragorn out of his anguish for a moment. She remained crouched down, staring at the forbidding Stone and Mountain with anticipation.

The Dead King stalked through the stone wall purposefully, pausing in front of Aragorn. Everyone held their breaths. "We fight," he stated vigorously and with clearer eyes than before.

At the news, she could do nothing but laugh, tears pouring from her eyes. Her companions all joined her seconds later, free from the hurt and once more willing to put stock into their potential survival.

Aragorn spun back to her, uncaring of the Dead's presence and embraced her still crouched form, pulling her up into the air and spinning her merrily in circles. "This is not the end!" he yelled as she laughed. He set her down and grabbed her face, planting a grimy kiss on her lips, but she smiled anyway.

"What a marvelous display," The Dead King deadpanned and Aragorn broke away from her instantly, but she saw that he was still smiling. "I want your word that you will release us once we have completed this task," he continued once he had Aragorn's attention.

"You have it," he answered readily.

The Dead King sighed and looked over their shoulders, finally seeing the ships. "I take it these ships are not of your ilk?" he drawled, jutting his chin out to them.

"They will be the fastest way to the city," Arathell remarked, stepping up beside Aragorn and looking the Dead in the eye. "We need to commandeer them as soon as possible."

The King pursed dry lips as he appraised her. "Gondor's Queen," he named her. "Yes, one so bold as Isildur's Heir would need a Queen to match his reckless tendencies." She ignored the comment, knowing it was a ploy. From his time, Women were even further beneath their Men, merely creatures to breed and continue lines with. Being spoken to in such a way by a female was not normal for him. He sighed again when she refused to take the bait. "If it is what the King commands," he regarded, looking again at Aragorn for confirmation.

"You will follow her orders as you follow mine," Aragorn said firmly. "She knows much of war. We make to take the ships." He glanced at the ships before looking back at the apparition determined. "We will attempt to negotiate with them first, though any fruit coming of it is unlikely. I will send for you and your company when the time is right. Keep hidden for the moment, however." He looked back at the four of them. "We need to hurry – they are approaching us soon."

They barreled down the hill with disfigured speed, desperately trying to maintain balance while also beating the Southern Men.

They arrived at the bottom with a brief time to spare and they waited patiently for the moment their dark ships would peruse by them. "You have done well, Elessar," she mentioned calmly, keeping her features void of any emotions. "You have your Men."

"Thank you, Ilmien," he replied gently.

The name made her smile and she held her chin higher, waiting with pride as the ships came closer.

As they come alongside at last, Aragorn stated loudly to them, sword resting on his shoulder, "You may go no further. You will not enter Gondor." A Man stood from his seat, approaching the rails, dirty teeth flashed in a gnarled grimace while his sailors laughed in mockery.

"Who are you to deny us passage?" the Man yelled back.

"Legolas, fire a warning shot past the boson's ear," Aragorn ordered quietly.

"Mind your aim," Gimli whispered.

"You do not know to whom you speak, Dwarf," Brastor remarked with a huff, arms folded defensively across his chest.

When the arrow was let loose, it did indeed fly past the boson, but picked its target into an unfortunate portly Man riddled with knotted hair. He screamed out in pain before he collapsed to the deck. Her eyes landed on Gimli, wide with disbelief. "Oh!" he exclaimed in faux surprise. "That's it. We warned you. Prepare to be boarded!"

"Boarded?" he yelled back. "By you and whose army?"

"This army," she heard Aragorn murmur.

Green flooded her vision, making her gasp for a moment as the Dead pushed through her bones and flesh, diving across the water to smother the ships. Screams fell on merciless ears and when they had ceased, she watched the boats slow their pace and come closer to the shore.

"We need to swim," Aragorn ordered.

"With all of this armor?" Gimli growled, gesturing to himself.

"I will help you, my friend," Legolas eased, though he still looked partially upset at Gimli's interference with his shot moments earlier.

"I'm unsure if even one of our race could successfully carry him without drowning," Brastor mocked, the Dwarf in question huffing in anger. "I will assist."

"It is not far," Gimli grumbled before following the two Elves toward the water, kicking dirt along the way.

"The horses –" Arathell mentioned when a flash of white and chocolate brown invaded her vision, followed soon by a pitch black and dusty gray. She smiled as Faerdhinen approached, tossing her head in a form of asking for approval. She grinned merrily and saw one of the ships move closer to shore for the four horses to board.

Arathell nearly laughed at the sight before looking back to Aragorn. His face was filled with more peace than she had ever seen, and in that moment, he was young and free. The world had smiled at him today and the sun filled him with joy, and she could not be happier for him. He stared at the boats, lost in thought. "Come along, love," she murmured, reaching for his hand and giving it a quick tug before she released him and waded into the water herself.

All of the dirt from the Mountain was slowly pulled from her clothes and grimy skin. It was cold, to be sure, nearly freezing her in her place, but her long legs pushed still through the water, hair partially wet as she assured she would not lose her circlet by dunking herself.

She swam up alongside the leading ship of the fleet, finding a rope dropped out for her and the others. Gimli climbed the rope first, still grumbling, but now about the cold and his nether regions. Again, she nearly laughed, convinced she had never heard the Dwarf ever be so vulgar. "You will have to apologize to him, Brastor," she remarked, gesturing towards Gimli as Legolas ascended the rope at a much quicker pace.

"Two Elven friends for him are too many; he does not need three," Brastor disagreed.

She cocked her eyebrow at him, swimming to grab hold of the rope next. "If we cannot learn to properly share this world and get along amicably with all of its creatures, how are we any different from the Enemy?" she asked clearly before climbing up the rope next.

Her feet landed on a dirty wooden deck, and she grimaced. She should have expected nothing less than this, but still – she was disappointed.

Aragorn was up the rope next, followed by Brastor, both shaking their heads free of water.

Aragorn approached the Dead King and she carefully walked to join. Truly, she did not intend to pester the Dead with her feminine presence, however, as an influential decision maker, it would have been irresponsible of her to ignore her duties to Aragorn. And he needed to be aware that she would take her duties seriously, even if it meant stepping on someone's toes.

"The ships will come astride Minas Tirith by tomorrow morning," Aragorn noted. "Until then, we only stay to the course and wait. We fight to secure the city and cease the battle, which has likely already started."

"There are reports that it is burning and waiting for more Men to bring it to its knees," The Dead King remarked. Both she and Aragorn glared. "We are on an Enemy ship, you claim. Did you expect the reports to be so unbiased? This is war, not chess. We will do as you have asked us to do, but no more. Once Minas Tirith is relinquished from Enemy hands, you will release us."

"How many times will we be expected to make the bargain?" she snapped. "The King has given you his word. And might I add that you are not so high to be making such demands for loyalty – you have already failed Gondor on that count before." Now it was the Dead's turn to glare at her, but she met his fierce gaze easily. "Rohan will likely be present as well," she stated concisely. "They were due to arrive earlier tomorrow morning. They set out from Dunharrow today, as I'm sure you are aware."

The Dead continued to stare, drumming his translucent nails on a makeshift desk made from a barrel. "What is your name?" The King finally drawled. "You are brave to address me in such a way, and this was not the first time you have spoken out of turn."

She scoffed. "If you killed me, Elessar would never free you and the bargain would be void," she answered coolly. "And I speak the way I do – not to cower behind Elessar's protection – but because I am Arathell Duvainith, Ilmien of Rivendell and future Queen of Gondor. But to you, I am Shadow."

The Dead all around her made soft noises of alarm at the name, uneasy. Still, they had to know that she was unable to bring them any harm. The Dead King, however, barely moved, wind being the only thing pushing his maniacal hair. "You are very old then, aren't you?" he finally drawled.

"I've kept my age well," she agreed. "I'm an Elf."

"Do you think yourself above me?" he asked, "A crowned King?"

"That's enough," Aragorn interrupted.

"He deserves an answer, Aragorn," she replied, staring still at the Dead King, eyebrows raised in a challenge. "Your Majesty, I believe myself above anybody who cannot answer the call of a friend," she stated.

"Is this not what I am doing?" he mocked, gesturing to his people.

"Thousands of years late," she reminded. "And only out of exhaustion. This is only you doing yourself favors. I appreciate what your numbers can do for Gondor, but I would be a fool to think that you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

The Dead King gave her a crooked smile, teeth glinting evilly so much so that Aragorn stepped in again in front of her. Whether it was mockingly or not, the Dead gave her a deep bow. "All hail the King and Queen of Gondor," he purred before standing and walking away. He paused and turned around a little. "The mission you have tasked us is simple. I see no reason to prolong conversation. We will be with you when the time is right and not a moment sooner."

She watched with the others as their illuminated green forms slowly melted into the darkness of ship, warmth tentatively moving its way back into her body as each of them disappeared.

"You should not speak to them in such a way," Aragorn warned.

Arathell tilted her head in his direction, raising one corner of her lips at him. "The only way for a woman to influence his mind in any way is to be bold and unafraid. He is thousands of years old, just as I am, Aragorn. The thing beings my age hate and respect the most is courage. He acknowledged it in our exchange and I do not expect to have any more issues with him. And if he and his army departed on my account, then I still see no reason to be upset. As he stated, they will arrive when the time is right, and I do not doubt his word."

"Only his heart," Aragorn mentioned.

"Quite right."

They moved about the ship then, thankful they did not have to be concerned for the others. The Dead had already sunk their hunks of wood and they were now laying at the bottom of the Anduin. She could see glimmers of green occasionally at the wheel of the ship that her Faerdhinen was on, and that made her breathe a little easier. "Is there any work that needs to be done from here?" Legolas asked.

"We could work on the smell," Gimli offered. Indeed, the sweat of dozens of Men squished together on this vessel only created a pool of odor that made the inside of her nose burn with displeasure. Sick littered some of the former crew members' cabins, bottles of hard drink being the supposed cause. In others, they found piles of feces cocooned by ecstatic flies and puddles of what they all presumed to be urine. "Some poor bastard had to pile it all," Gimli remarked as soon as they had vacated the located bathroom. The smell had been enough to make her eyes water and she brushed them away on her sleeve.

"That was certainly a thought I wished to have – thank you," Brastor retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"At least we have identified the worst parts of the ship," Aragorn calmed. "And thankfully, they are away from where they had their food storage as well as navigation tools. If we could just find one or two cabins that aren't so dreadful, there is nothing more to do." They all nodded in agreement. "However, the River bends shortly, and someone must take control of the vessel whilst the others search. Brastor, if you feel you are capable –"

"Agreed," the other Elf drawled before marching away.

Aragorn seemed bothered by the dismissal, but he didn't comment on it and ignored looking at any of them for a moment. "Come along," he finally stated and they hurried away from the room and headed towards the other side of the ship.

"The Captain must have had decent quarters," Arathell mentioned. "And perhaps the first mate."

The others nodded.

The search thankfully was short and they located both quarters and found them both to be relatively hospitable. The Captain's was naturally the biggest and Aragorn was given this without question. Naturally, Arathell sidled up next to him and told the others that she would be remaining with Aragorn while Brastor, Legolas, and Gimli could share the first mate's quarters comfortably.

Both Elf and Dwarf nodded in agreement and then made the decision to find Brastor and confer the news. Legolas had also mentioned speaking with Brastor about when would be the appropriate time for him to take over the navigation and Gimli was hungry.

This left Arathell and Aragorn alone and as soon as everyone had left, they fell against one another with an unceremonious sigh, his shoulder angled into her chest with her forehead rested on his temple. Sleep had not been easy to attain the previous night, and their unexpected adventure this morning had robbed them of enough sleep already. They would need their strength when they reached the city tomorrow if they wanted to have any kind of success.

"I need sleep," she mumbled, turning her face into his shoulder and feeling his arm wrap around her waist, pulling her close.

"I remember a time not long ago, you refused it," he commented dryly, exhaustion just as evident in his voice as it had been in hers.

"I've grown much since then," she retorted plainly. She pulled back a little to set her chin on his shoulder, staring at the side of his face with boredom but ease. Closeness like this used to bother her, Glorfindel's kisses being nothing but nuisances and Boromir never making her feel quite perfectly comfortable.

The thought of her fallen comrade instantly made her frown. "We never wanted to come this way," she said quietly. "It was always Boromir that insisted we go to Minas Tirith. And here we sit on a ship towards his home, and he is not here with us."

Aragorn turned his head a little, pushing his forehead onto hers. "I'm sure you're quite wrong, Arathell. I'm sure he sits with us now, eagerly waiting for the moment to be home again."

"His body should have already arrived," Arathell disagreed.

He chuckled gently. "Meleth nin, I do not think that he ever could have let his mind or spirit wander far from you. He tethered himself quite fiercely to you as soon as you met."

"Do you think he loved me?" she asked gently, her hand having somehow found its way into his and was being held quite tightly.

She didn't mean to hurt him and make him feel uncomfortable, but the question had burned in her for much of her relationship with Boromir. Arathell had not given him as much thought as the Gondorian deserved, to be sure, but now in the quiet peace of the morning, she wondered.

Aragorn sighed in reflection. "I think that with the Ring overthrowing his mind, he was strong to show you at all the depth of his feelings. Without the Ring, I do not doubt that he could have showed you how much he loved you." He paused. "And I am not entirely sure that you would have not returned that love eventually."

She shook her head at that, pushing her chin harder into his shoulder. "My feelings for you were deep even before Boromir's death. I would not call them love, and Boromir's actions may have been what led me to you, but… I knew very early in my relationship with him that Boromir was not the one I was meant to love. I did not know who for some time, but then…when I hurt my wrist on the way to Moria…everything changed."

His fingers danced along the once wounded appendage before moving to trace her cheek. When his hand landed in her hair, digging into her scalp, she nearly moaned at the pressure. "Watching you with him was one of the most challenging things I have ever had to witness," he mentioned.

"Glorfindel's affections never bothered you?" she teased, leaning in to the touch while he led them to sit down at a table in the middle of the cabin with her perched in his lap.

"Everyone knew you would never agree to marriage," he simplified.

"Just with him or with anyone?" she continued.

"That isn't for me to know."

"Isn't it?" Eyes that she hadn't realized she had closed cracked open. "Would you not care to know what I would say to a marriage proposal now if I was given one?" He stared at her blankly. "We have already agreed much about what our future would be like, Aragorn. And we have made it known that I would be your Queen – your wife if the world was not so horrible."

"Those things were all dependent on if we won. You do not have hope, meleth nin. You never needed to truly commit to marriage if you never thought we would win," he said very slowly. "I never asked for fear that you would attempt to postpone an answer to a time you didn't believe existed. I could not bear the hurt to have you push me away like that, Arathell."

"Ask me," she demanded, pulling away and situating her hands on her lap, spine straight, despite the delicate bounce of ship. "Ask me to marry you."

"Arathell…"

"Ask me to forsake my immortality for you," she snapped. "Ask me to become mortal so that I may die with you and live in eternity with you as your wife." His eyes were wide and he didn't move. "Elessar, ask your Ilmien to marry you."

Here, he shook his head and his hands were found grasping her face, silver eyes boring into her brown ones with such intensity, she thought she was going to burst. "I will not ask you as Elessar, and you will not respond as Ilmien. We are Aragorn and Arathell, as we have always said. And the moment you agree to marry me and be at my side for all of eternity, we will be Aragorn and Arathell."

"Then ask your Arathell, Aragorn," she whispered, feeling tears in her eyes and seeing through the blur enough to know that they were mirrored in his own. "She has an answer for you if you would only ask."

"Marry me, Arathell," he stated. It was not a question, rather a command full of so much love, it would be impossible to refuse. "Marry me and become the Woman you were meant to be. Arathell… you insolent, beautiful, stubborn, wise woman…" She laughed a little, knocking her forehead onto his again and waiting. "Marry me and…"

"Ask me, Aragorn."

He chewed his lip for a moment before continuing, "I am only a Man, and I have no family left aside from the one I have found in yours," he said gently. "They are Elf-kind and will live until they leave for the Undying Lands. To go with them would save your soul from ever knowing death and would give you peace for the rest of time. But, Arathell…I love you. No matter the peace and life provided in those green fields, no one will ever be able to love you as I love you. I cannot always provide peace and plenty for you, but the love I have can be enough if you let it. Stay with me. It is selfish and cruel to beg you to leave your family, but I'm asking. Let me make you happy enough here that you won't want immortality. Let me love you for the rest of our lives and let me love you in the eternity after. Stay at my side, Arathell, and I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you from wanting anything more. Please, meleth nin… stay at my side."

Tears were flowing from both of them now, and the kiss she pushed onto his waiting lips was watery and grimy from that morning. But never before had she felt so much love encapsulate her entire being. She felt as though she could burst, all of the love bottled inside of her ready to explode. "Yes," she whispered against his lips. "Yes, I'll marry you. Yes, I choose you, always you, love. Everlasting life would be meaningless without you there with me. Yes." She looked him straight in the eye, nodding vigorously. She thought her heart would pound at this moment. She thought she would hear the blood rushing through her ears. She thought the world around her would be blank as her vision ran away. She thought there would be tingles between her toes.

But there was never anything she was more certain about in her life. Her heart was steady, in agreement with the decision long before her mind thought of it. The sound of lapping water crashing on the side of the ship was a gentle lull, calm and unafraid. And while the only thing she could see was the brightness of Aragorn's eyes, their silvery charm had never been more clear. And the tingles were waiting, holding the breath for the final utterance. Anticipation drove every word from her lips, "I want mortality," she whispered.

His arms were around her in love and laughter, hands cradling her close as his chest shook with tears. In his arms, she could feel it. She felt the Valar reaching into her peeling away an old part of her identity. It didn't hurt. If anything, it felt as if she was finally whole and real. The cold was realer, but so was the warmth in Aragorn's arms. Color was duller in her eyes, but now her eyes saw the things that truly mattered. Her ears, while still pointed, couldn't hear the cry of the seagulls outside of the ship and on the shore. But they echoed with Aragorn's laughter. Her hands felt dry, but the texture was unbelievable and she pushed them harder into his back and into his hair, relishing in every touch. Her Elven hands had felt every inconsistency and every wrinkle – Aragorn had never felt more perfect to her now.

He pulled away a little and kissed her fiercely, rough hands gliding through her hair as though it was silk. His lips were hot on hers, beard scratching more painfully than ever, but she loved it. Teeth and tongues were insistent as they battled for dominance and in her sensory shock, she was overcome almost instantly, shaking like a leaf as he commanded control over the insides of her mouth. Her nails were digging into his shoulders, taking all she could from him and hearing a groan in approval.

His hands landed on her hips, pulling her lower body deep into his. His arousal was plain and she whimpered at the feel of it. They broke apart for air, bodies still compressed tightly together in a way that made them both shudder. They subconsciously moved against each other, eyes pouring passion into the other. "You won't regret it," he promised.

She shook her head. "Never," she agreed. They moved again and here, Aragorn finally pulled away so they no longer touched.

"I won't have you here on this ship with piles of sick and feces littered only meters from us."

"I'd rather not die from whatever parasite it carries either," she agreed, though her nether regions were definitely feeling the loss most painfully. "Best to limit the amount of orifices on the display," she stated.

His eyes darkened and he pointed at her with a playful glare. "My Queen, your words are not going to assist me in accomplishing my goals."

"My apologies, my King," she teased. "I won't say another word about the orifices hidden from view and what could happen should they be visible to you. That would be most improper. And you need the most pure of Queens in your nuptial bed." He gave her a look, eyes mentioning her lack of virginity due to a mistake many years ago. "As far as anyone else in this world is aware, I am clean and untainted and completely and irrevocably yours for the taking… or ravishing."

"Cruel Woman," he remarked darkly, but the power of the word 'Woman' was what sent the most chills down her spin.

"Moments ago, you called me beautiful," she teased.

"And stubborn and insolent."

"Well, you asked your stubborn and insolent Woman to marry you and that is exactly what she intends to do," she continued, arching an eyebrow at him.

"You will never know how much I love you, Arathell," he said gently, smile soft and full of content.

"I have seen it in your mind clear enough," she murmured as the teasing melted away into a pool of content.

"You can't see all that is in my heart though," he reminded.

Instead of pointing out to him how ridiculous the comment sounded in his buffed romantic phrasing, she smiled. "Then I assume that it is equally matched, Aragorn."

* * *

 **And we have finally reached this level of the relationship! I really quite love how this chapter turned out, but I would obviously love to hear more from you than have me gush about it.**

 **Check out the music! It's a beautiful song!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	76. Chapter 76

**Oh, everyone, hello! I am so, so, so, so, SO SORRY for taking so long with this chapter. I really can't believe myself. All I can say is this: holidays + new relationship + college + work + finals + shitty friends + family drama + applying for graduate programs =… an exhausted author. I appreciate all of the messages sent to me lately asking if I am alright; I am, but my goodness. I have had literally no time to even read for pleasure on this blessed site from how busy I've been. I don't mean to sound annoying, and I certainly am not asking you all to forgive me for my lateness, but I figured some context on what's going on with me couldn't hurt. But now that I am done with the semester, I can get back on track with posting. At least that is the hope. Please don't think that I am abandoning this story! It is all written, and that would be downright shameful of me. So never fear on that account. Just know that sometimes I might not get around to posting when I ought to.**

 **BUT I AM HERE NOW! And I bring an extra long chapter in light of my tardiness as well as for the holidays, whichever one you celebrate, or for the simple fact that there isn't school, take your pick.**

 **Alright, I'll get on with it now.**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Awake - Josh Groban

"So keep me awake to memorize you  
Give me more time to feel this way  
We can't stay like this forever  
But I can have you next to me today"

* * *

 _Instead of pointing out to him how ridiculous the comment sounded in his buffed romantic phrasing, she smiled. "Then I assume that it is equally matched, Aragorn."_

He grinned lightly and reached to twirl a piece of her hair. "Do you feel different?" he asked conversationally, staring at her hair.

Arathell shrugged. "I suppose I do. Before…, everything was so fragmented. I could distinguish everything around me – sounds, smells, sights. It was bright and full and astounding. Every touch was… well, I could feel it very clearly. Now… everything is brought together. It is like a painting. My senses bleed together and make everything seem much more potent. I can't properly explain it." She sighed, her hand coming to tangle with his, stopping his twirling. "What I do know, however, is that I feel better. When I'm here with you, I've always felt at home, but now… Now, I feel like I'm who I am meant to be. Being mortal, being your wife, being a Queen of Gondor… I feel as though I have discovered my purpose and the pieces are falling together."

"I'm glad," he said before moving to the bunk and lying down, leaving enough room between him and the wall for her to slip in, which she soon did.

They lied there for a while, staring at one another, memorizing shapes and shines in the other's eyes. "You don't seem different," he mentioned.

"The feeling is enough," she replied. There was another pause. "Éowyn said she spoke with you before we left the camp this morning."

"Are you asking what she said to me?"

"I already know, Aragorn."

"How long have you known?"

"Since the moment we arrived in Edoras."

He swished his shoulders awkwardly, looking down for a moment as he assessed her words. "I never meant for her to think of me in that way, Arathell."

"I know," she quipped back.

"And she knows that my heart belongs to you," he hurriedly added.

"She has for some time, I believe. You need not worry; I am not angry – not with you or with her. For the little things that are in her power to control, I cannot lay blame to her for seizing an opportunity to express an emotion. She may not have many opportunities left and she needs to express what she can."

"We should sleep," Aragorn mentioned. "We have some hours."

"It is not yet the evening," she disagreed. "We have enough energy in our bodies for a day's work. I'm sure this ship could use as many hands as it can, and I am not quite so queenly yet that I would refuse to give assistance. If we slept now, we would be too awake for the evening and would be unable to sleep."

Aragorn sighed but stood from the bunk and walked about the cabin, looking for papers. "There may be information on the war that we are ignorant of here," he reasoned. "Numbers, weaponry, plans even. Anything that we can find here would be helpful, I'm sure."

Arathell nodded and joined him, taking the opposite side of a table riddled with yellowed pages. The seat was hard and numbed her rear after only fifteen minutes, and she squirmed with discomfort. Arathell tried to settle herself, wondering for a moment if this was her mortality that made her feel numb or whether the chair itself was just that poorly made. She squirmed again when the tingling sensation became more painful. Arathell cleared her throat and focused on the pages in front of her, staring hard at the poor handwriting.

"Almost twenty-five thousand," Aragorn mentioned, voice empty of any emotion. "That is how many Sauron sent to Minas Tirith."

"That was expected," she agreed. "I found documents saying that approximately one thousand were meant to arrive here by ship. That is less than what we had anticipated, and that number has been eradicated anyways." Aragorn nodded. "Are there any suppositions on the City's numbers?"

"It is suspected only five to ten thousand," he replied. "Osgiliath is overrun, though this was also guessed at. It is possible that the Orcs there will join in on the fight."

"Without question," she snapped. "How many there?"

"Only three thousand," he replied. "And they likely will not leave Osgiliath empty."

"Rohan brings six thousand, and Gondor has – we'll assume – seven thousand. That makes thirteen. Are there any estimates on what Imrahil would bring?"

There was a scuffling of papers. "Estimates say only five thousand – these are grand totals from all over the country," Aragorn replied.

"Alright, that makes eighteen thousand."

"Against almost thirty," he argued.

"That isn't as bleak as what we had supposed, Aragorn. And with the numbers and power that we bring, it is more than likely that we shall actually win this battle."

He sighed. "Will the Orcs have any reinforcements?"

She glanced through her papers, reaching off to the side for another. "The Haradrim," she murmured, fingers pushing on her forehead. "They bring more than five." She dug harder into the papers. "They are bringing oliphaunts," she stated. "Naturally, of course, why would they not?"

"Our army can deal with them," Aragorn tried soothing her.

"They will arrive by tomorrow morning – we may not arrive in time. With those kinds of animals, the city would not only be destroyed, but there would be no fortifying it afterwards. Nothing but our army can beat such creatures, and if we arrive even a minute too late, then this army won't matter at all."

"Then we only need to worry about our timing," he reasoned. "The numbers at Helm's Deep were much more bleak than this and we have an army of undead soldiers. We cannot give up hoping just yet, Arathell."

The rest of their day consisted of more evaluation. There wasn't much more to do in the way of planning, and thus, reading papers and navigating the ship were the only things available to do to pass the time. They had cycled through the rotations of steering the ship, though Brastor had seemed the most committed to it.

Towards the end of the day, she found herself at the helm for the third time, the sun shining dimly on her left with navy blues and purples beginning to take control over the sky. Brastor sat beside her on the plush chair the previous Captain had commandeered, finger draped casually over his upper lip in contemplation. "You seem different," he commented.

"I'm sure you know in what way," she replied lightly. Her body was still adapting to the loss of her grace and immortality, but with each breath, she felt calmer and more comfortable.

"I thought surely you had already forsaken your immortality," he mentioned.

"I do not find it surprising at all that she elects now to give it away," Legolas interrupted, coming to stand beside Brastor, leaning on the chair. "Making such a decision cannot be easy, and you are the most logical creature I know. Firmly deciding on a future is a heady task."

She smiled lightly and rotated the wheel just barely. "I think I have made the right choice," she told them both. "We go to our graves tomorrow, but my conscience is entirely clear."

"Well, of course you made the right choice!" Legolas teased. "We all have only known that you were meant to be mortal since meeting you! You have never been more Elf than Man, aside from appearances. And with Aragorn as your One, we were almost beginning to wonder how long it would take for you to come to the conclusion we had!"

Arathell only rolled her eyes, deciding that her last night was not going to be filled with anguish and disagreement. "I've arrived at your conclusion," she said softly before huffing a loud sigh. "One of you, take the helm. Sleep eluded me last night and we had an earlier departure than I had been anticipating."

"I wonder why sleep eluded you?" Legolas conjectured with a playful twinkle in his eye.

"Go ahead and wonder," she teased. "I'm sure your younger mind is much fuller of imagination and creativity." Brastor chuckled at her antics while Legolas rolled his own eyes before stepping up to take the great wheel. "I'm going to retire – wait, where has Gimli gone?" Her head swiveled around in confusion once the bulky, fiery red beard and hair was nowhere to be seen.

"He went to sleep hours ago," Brastor replied. "It will take the hordes of Mordor to wake that Dwarf." Arathell tilted her head at him, lips pursed in a smirk of question. "I did not mean any disrespect," Brastor retorted to the slow raising of her eyebrow. "His snoring is likely to drown out any other noises within a two league radius. Nevertheless, he has earned his rest."

She laughed quietly, shaking her head before diving down below deck to the Captain's quarters. When she pushed open the door, Aragorn was still at the makeshift desk, papers sprawled around him like a territorial cocoon. His head had dropped to the musty wood, hands lightly holding onto another document.

Arathell walked carefully up to him, reaching to lift away a piece of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes. True to her suspicions, his grey eyes were closed and hidden from the world, deep breathing being expelled through regal looking lips. He was gentler in his sleep, commanding and still full of stoic pride, but the worry lines that encompassed his face were swept away. She could remember a younger Man, lighter on his feet and quicker to smile and with eyes that were untainted from the horrors of the world. True, she never really knew him when he was young, but as Arwen had once said: his presence was mighty. It would have been hard for any creature to forget him.

The youth had been traded for wisdom and the angelic beauty was handed in for rugged good looks. His eyes weren't as bright, but they were deeper, like the pools of Lothlórien. And his smile, while hidden, would outshine any sun when coaxed out of its dank cave.

Now, as he slept, he almost looked like the boy she once knew. Aside from the sprinkling of rich grey in his hair, he was young.

She hated the thought of waking him but knew that sleeping hunched over a desk would not have had pleasant consequences. "My love," she purred, leaning down to his upturned ear. Her fingers continued to glide through his hair, and once more, she thought of how silky it was now. He barely stirred in reaction to her call, and she knew that he was more exhausted than she had originally supposed.

Arathell swung around to the other side of the desk, and rested her hands around his.

Aragorn's response was immediate and he pulled away, jerking up and prepared to launch across the table. It was a warrior's reflex and though she could not blame him for his instincts, it panged her that he had to have them. It panged her that any of her friends and family had to have them. "Aragorn!" she snapped as his breathing slowed and he remembered where he was.

"I'm sorry," he said instantly, recoiling from her hands even more.

"Do not be ridiculous," she hushed, waving a hand in front of her face in dismissal. "I'm alright." He sighed and washed his hand over his face in fatigue. His eyes were hooded under dark bags of burden. Arathell moved again to him and lifted her fingers reaching to trace the persistent bags. "Maybe one day, the world won't do this to you," she said carefully.

"Until that day comes, there is nothing I can do but wait and endure," he replied tautly, though he leaned into her hand hard enough that his forehead fell onto hers.

"Sleep would be an excellent start," she retorted with a smile. "Come." Her hand fell down to his side to entwine her fingers with his and she gave him a tug. "I would rather have you sleeping on a bed than on a desk full of papers. And if this is our last night in this world, then I especially would rather you have a bed."

He let out a dry chuckle and followed her, falling down on the bunk with a thud. His long legs stretched the entire length of the bed, but he was thin enough that there was still room for her to join him. She climbed on after him, pushing her back firmly into his chest and grabbing one of his arms to drape over her middle. "What would I do without you?" he said tenderly.

"Let's hope you never have to find out," she remarked, turning her head just a little to look at him. His eyes were already closed but he hummed in affirmation. She squirmed slightly in his embrace, relaxing as she closed her eyes. She exhaled loudly, her fingers entwining with his as they pressed into her belly. His other arm slithered under her head, wrapping around her chest to clasp her opposite shoulder.

Despite her fearful thoughts for what task lay ahead of them, Arathell found it simple to let her exhaustion sweep over her and blanket her in a sense of false security. Tomorrow could be her dying day, and all she could feel was peace and content, even though she did not want to die. It was a confusing feeling, but that didn't matter. Not everything had to be known or understood. Fear could wait.

* * *

 _She sat in a garden, full of herbs with their fragrant aromas marrying in the air to confer a fresh, earthy scent. Plants didn't grow wildly here as they were known to in Rivendell's gardens. Here, they were tended – potted and planted with thick stone walls sheltering them. It was modernized from her birthplace, but she found she loved it all the same. She had even convinced the gardener to plant some of her more favorite flowers, of which she sat next to at the moment._

 _A little boy was darting in and out of her peripheral vision, but his constant chatter and laughter kept her well attuned to where he was. He made infinite loops around erected garden beds, a Dwarven kite imported from Erebor flying high from his small hand._

 _"Mama, see how high my dragon flies!" he exclaimed. Arathell looked over to him, the orange contraption shimmering with the gentle Gondorian winds pushing through its papery wings. She smiled at him appreciatively, wondering how it was that she had created a being as wonderful as him. His hair was perfectly straight – chestnut – but it was his eyes that Arathell loved the most. As she had adored the emeralds Kara had, her son's grey eyes twinkled like stars, always burning with curiosity and warmth, round with wonder and tenderness._

 _"It is very nice, little one," she cooed._

 _He ran up to her, kite falling to the ground with a thud but he did not look back at it. Instead, he rested his hands on her knees, leaning over to look at her book. "Where are the pictures?" he asked._

 _"Grown up books don't have pictures, silly," she teased, closing her book before giving his nose a tickling stroke. He giggled and wrinkled his nose at the touch but still smiled._

 _The gate to the garden creaked open and another, tall figure strode inside, velvety tunic wrinkled from a long day and general indifference. His smile was grand however as he approached them, bending slightly to reach for the little boy and throw him high into the air._

 _"Oh, I have missed you today, my son," Aragorn remarked as he held the boy close before setting him down and ruffling his hair. He gestured to the discarded dragon. "Have you been conquering great beasts today?"_

 _"I have," he retorted proudly, jutting his chin up in such a way that made Aragorn glance at her playfully, silently acknowledging that their son's current attitude was a perfect mirror of his mother's. "And Mama has been reading a book without any pictures in it while we waited for you."_

 _"There is still some time before dinner; you can continue to play if you wish," Aragorn told him, setting him back down on the cobblestone of the courtyard. The boy nodded before grabbing his string and dragging the kite back up into the air with a chuckle._

 _Aragorn turned to her and placed a kiss tenderly on her lips, lingering there for just a moment. "You really must try to prevent such wrinkles in your tunics, my love," she chastised, reaching to try to remedy them._

 _"Your dresses are in as good of condition as my shirts, Arathell," he drawled back. She only rolled her eyes and looked back at their son, now trying to climb one of the trees for an apple. Though the gardener was not particularly fond of the idea that the Heir to the throne of Gondor could fall from one of his trees to his possible death… Aragorn and Arathell never rebuked the boy for his behavior. Climbing trees was an ability that they both had had at very young ages, and it would have been wrong of them to prevent their son from such exploration. "He is beautiful," he remarked casually._

 _"Yes," she breathed, reclining a little to rest her head on his shoulder. "A dream."_

 _"We never thought we would see a day like this," he commented. "And now we are here, taking in these days as common ones – we expect to have them."_

 _"They are anything but common," she disagreed. "Every day I have with you and with our boy, I treasure. Our son's future is not going to be plagued by days like the ones we have known. He is safe and loved and that is more than what many have. His days as the King are going to be blessed and full of joy and peace."_

 _"You hope?" he asked lightly, as if he already knew the answer._

 _She grinned and pulled away enough to meet his gaze calmly before stating, "I know."_

* * *

 **March 19, 3019 – River Anduin**

Her brown eyes creaked open, taking in the darkness of the ship with wide eyes. Through the tiny window within the cabin, she could deduce that it was not dawn yet and likely, there would be some time before she and her companions needed to rouse themselves.

Arathell looked down at her waist, seeing Aragorn's arm nestled into her front, holding her close and preventing her from moving. His hold didn't frighten her, as they had woken many times in such a position.

But there were other things that were frightening her.

The boy had been tucked away in the recesses of her mind since she saw him in the Mirror. He was – unfortunately, yet necessarily – an unimportant figure at the time she had witnessed him. She had been convinced that she would never live long enough to have a child of her own, and if anything, her mind was more wrought with the concern as to who the potential father would have been.

Now, it was different.

She knew the father of her potential child and it was his arm that held her close now.

No, now it was her doomed future and the life of a boy that would never come to be. It did not matter that the Aragorn in her dream had commented on their fears during the war – ones that she was still experiencing right alongside him currently. She could not afford to ponder the possibility that they were going to truly live to see bright enough days to have children in peace. The chances of such things seemed higher now, but that was only because of the army that waited for Aragorn's command. Tomorrow, or the day after that – they would be on their own once more. This battle, they may not even survive. The army at their hand now could flee and Gondor could fall, Rohan and the rest of the Free People right along with it.

This possibility was less frightening; it was what she expected for many years now.

She wasn't mournful to die.

She was mournful for her lack of future. She wanted that little boy in her arms – a nameless boy with twinkling, star-like eyes and chestnut hair. A part of her considered naming the child in her dreams, but she almost instantly decided against it, knowing that putting a name to the angelic face would only carve at her heart more. Arathell wanted the boy to stay in the recesses of her mind, but with the smile he had given her and the way Aragorn had hugged him… she would never have that.

Tears were dripping from her eyes before she even realized they were there. Her nose ran along with it, turning red from the pain. For the first time, Arathell was confident that it would never matter how tightly Aragorn held her – this pain was permanent and would never go away.

"Arathell," he murmured into her ear. Her sniffling must have woken him up.

She considered telling him the dream, but – like the name – decided against it quickly. The world was already resting on her lover's shoulders, and she was not about to rest the impossibility of their son on them.

So she remained silent, not bothering to wipe at her eyes but rotated around in his arms. She looked into his eyes, seeing her son's for a fraction of a moment. Aragorn's were not bright any more – weary from age and turmoil… pain… He looked at her with a storm, torrential and consuming yet wary and disbelieving.

But they were the closest thing to her son's eyes that she could ever see in her waking world.

Arathell wanted to tell him she loved him – maybe in the hopes that the soul of the little boy would hear it too. It was a silly thought, and she was well aware of that. But it was a thought and the mother already in her was completely heartbroken and devastated. It was as if the baby had died in her womb – a miscarriage Women named it. It was an ugly word and Arathell hated it even more now. She was more than the transporter of a baby. She was quite sure that there wasn't a proper word to actually describe the actual hurt of losing a child. Maybe that was the word – lost. She lost her son and she could never hope to find him again.

The words in her throat died at the thought, and the love she felt for Aragorn remained locked behind her lips. He knew well of her love and would never have a reason to doubt it. She just couldn't bring herself to say anything at the moment. She could only nod weakly, hoping that he would understand her.

The hand still draped across her body lifted up to catch her face. She met his gaze again, feeling the pad of his thumb stroke tenderly at the tears that were still leaking out of her eyes. His eyes were full of concern as they stared at her, uncomprehending. She tried looking into his mind but only was met with a great barrier.

It was enough of a distraction and surprise that she gasped, nearly choking on her tears. "I can't see," she tried to say, but the words came out as a whimpered heap. "I can't see your mind," she tried again.

Aragorn sighed, putting his forehead onto hers. "You are Mortal," he mentioned, watching her carefully. She bit hard at her lip, upset yet understanding. Slowly, she nodded in acceptance. "I feel powerless," he told her, explaining what she would have seen. "Everyone around me is hurting, and I can do nothing to ease their pain. I can only watch."

"You do much," she disagreed with a croak. The lack of her visual truth melted away, leaving the issue of her unborn son at the front of her mind once more. "I wish we had more time," she murmured, knowing that this was the best way to confer to him her pain without speaking of the little boy. "I wish we could stay like this always. I wish we could grow old together… have children…"

He didn't reply to that. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, their noses brushing together. He looked into her eyes once before pushing his lips onto hers. It was not a lustful kiss, rather one filled with comfort. Aragorn was there, attempting to calm her pain without demanding that it leave. Even he knew that that would never happen.

She responded to the kiss, but barely. Aragorn didn't seem to care for that and gripped her face harder, pulling her into him more. Lips became insistent, trying to quench the heartbreak. His tongue was almost sharp once it plundered her mouth, dancing with a prowess she had never encountered from him before. It stunned her back into submission, allowing him this moment, and frankly taking the pleasure of it for herself.

Still, he must have thought her stubborn, as he soon rotated their bodies so that he was placed on top of her. Arms came down on either side of her head while the rest of his form mingled with hers, legs trapping hers and pushing their hips together. His mouth still worked furiously with hers until he broke away for air. She panted as she continued to stare up at him. He had definitely succeeded in his mission to distract her tattered mind, and as she continued to look at him, she felt him pushing into her hips even more. His want was evident and she nearly moaned at the feel of it. "You are so handsome," she said between pants. His shaggy dark hair fell in his face as he stared at her, lips stretched wide for a breathtaking smile. His gaze was more than enough to light a fire in her belly. "If we were not on this wretched boat, I would have you here and now," she dictated, feeling his arousal press even more into her, finally coaxing a moan from her lips.

He was arrogant in her declaration, and even more arrogant from her moan. He lowered his face back to hers once more, arms supporting his body, never putting all of his weight on her, no matter how much she would have liked that. His lips darted to and fro across the skin of her face, finally settling next to her ear. "You should not say words like those," he drawled.

She grinned smugly up at him, reaching to grab one of the lowered tendrils of his hair. His face softened, the lust removed as he rolled himself off of her to face her again.

Arathell wasn't sure how long they stared at each other, but she knew that it would never be long enough to properly feel satiated. Her fingers had left his hair, moving to trace his rough stubble. He had shaved the day before at Dunharrow, but that seemed like a century ago to her. And it showed on his face. His beard had thickened and grown rougher, but her fingers delighted in the coarse texture.

His fingers on the other hand, had migrated to play with her hair, putting it in its innocent little curls that were likely a permanent fixture on her appearance.

As they had done so many times, they enjoyed one another's company in silence, mentally preparing for the day ahead of them and holding as tightly as possible onto the moment they shared.

When the light finally began to streak through the window, her thoughts were calmed, and the pain of her dream less intense. Arathell released a shaky breath, giving him a soft smile. Both knew that the moment was over and their fates waited for them.

His hand left her hair and rested on her cheek, pulling her in for one more kiss. It was smooth and gentle, full of a promise that she didn't dare reciprocate. When he pulled away, the intensity in his gaze nearly made her want to weep. "We will live to see tomorrow, Arathell," he stated.

"Last night you didn't think so," she muttered.

"Hope can create conviction," he replied. Arathell's eyes fell off to the side, silently declaring her wariness.

"We could be too late," she said softly.

"And we may not be," he returned. "This army will not abandon us, and if I must march to the Black Gate with only the Dead, then I will do so. We will live to see tomorrow, Arathell."

She hesitantly nodded. "The Haradrim and their oliphaunts are not due to arrive until later besides," she added, feeling a sliver of what could only be identified as hope. Time was the only enemy today, and there was a part of it, however small, that believed that time would not hurt them today. Time already was ripped away from her future, but today… today it would not abandon her and Gondor. Gondor would have today – even if it meant only one Gondorian. "And Gandalf must have plans," she continued.

Aragorn smiled and kissed her once more before he sat up and climbed over her and off of the bed. "Come," he called, reaching for her hand which she readily gave him.

They arrived up on deck just as the sun was beginning to change color. With the wind in her face, she had to bite her lip through the reality of it all. Below deck, she was safe and warm and happy, and now… she was doomed to wait for whatever darkness they were about to come to.

Brastor was already at the helm and gave them both sturdy nods. "I suspect to arrive a little after sunrise," he remarked. "The wind is on our side."

She felt herself smile a little at the words. "Where are the others?"

"Here," an angry Dwarf grumbled, stumbling onto the deck and walking hastily to the railing, looking down at the moving water with a rather green face.

Legolas was behind him and she watched as the Elf took a seat on an erected barrel. His eyes were bloodshot and for the first time since she had met him, he looked truly weary. His hair wasn't properly attended to, and if she stared hard enough, the skin of his neck had been rubbed raw, a fine red line dancing around a chain of white gold.

Arathell's eyes darted down to where she saw Arwen's pendant resting close to Legolas' chest. Her pleasant mood was dampened almost instantly and she soon walked over to him and rested her hand on his shoulder. "My father mentioned he had a letter from her?" she whispered in Sindarin.

"It held no information that I was not already privy to," Legolas answered dully. "But it was comforting to have words from her at least. Her outlook has always been so bright, but even in her writings to me, she seems… weary. Your father is fearful for her, and he has every right to be." He paused and pushed his fingers into his eyebrows. "She asked me once to leave for the Undying Lands with her," he stated. "It was before any of… well, there were no commitments to this. She was prepared to leave, and wanted it even, but… I was stubborn. I wanted more from this life here, and I wasn't ready to depart. I thought that I could give her a true life here as a Queen of Elves. She always told me she loved Mirkwood. It was… mystical; that was the word she used. A whisper of a harmony buried under a lilting melody and entwined in a chorus Arwen could only hear. It was the first time I had ever felt as though it could be a home to me. After that, I always envisioned giving it to her one day. So I refused when she asked me to leave with her." He sighed, other hand clenching into a fist on his thigh. "She would be safe now if I had said yes. But I chose to remain here and aid this venture and she loves me too much to abandon me without knowing if I will return to her. I do not think that anyone could deserve as much love as she has granted me in this lifetime."

"She picked a worthy recipient, Legolas," Arathell disagreed quietly. "You've stood the test of time, and my sister is no fool. If she believes that you are her One, then she would be ridiculous to leave you. She loves you, and that is that." She smiled when he glanced up at her. "We never leave the ones we love," she said softly. Her eyes moved to land on Aragorn who was conferring with Brastor still. "I could never leave him to face this world alone. And Arwen is my sister – she would not subject you to that fate either."

"Your mother left," he said with the question evident in his stare.

The sky was turning pink now, the blue darkness being washed away as the light crept closer and closer. The stars were beacons above her, slowly diminishing in their celestial glow with the light's dominion growing.

She looked around at the water surrounding their ship, silvery waves crashing on the rotten wood. The hills and grass beyond were blanketed with cool, shimmering dew.

"My name was after darkness and now it is after the light of the stars," she said carefully. "My sister – the Evening Star to liven the darkness… my grandmother was named the Morning Star, bright and full of promise. My mother was not named for a time of day. She was neither the night, nor the morning. Her legacy, I believe, is too grand to be constrained to a period of day. My mother remains in all hours of all days. I can see the silver of her name now in these waters just as I can see it in the glow of the moon at night. Her silvery banners wave high with silver trumpets in the afternoon and just when the sun begins to tuck itself under the horizon at twilight. She may not be physically here beside me or my family, yet I feel her here just the same. I do not believe that my mother ever left. I do not know what my family would say, but this is how I interpret it. I think now, she finally has the ability to be with each of us all of the time."

Legolas stared at her for a moment before nodding a little. "She would be proud of you, Arathell."

Arathell grinned and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "And she would have surely approved of you marrying my sister."

"That is quite the compliment."

She shrugged. "I think you are worthy of it."

"Thank you, mellon nin," he murmured, hand reaching to clasp hers gently.

"Arwen is strong, Legolas," Arathell mentioned, pulling her hand away yet staring firmly at him. "She resides in a mentality of love and peace, but my sister is no weakling. My family is strong on all fronts of a storm. My father may seem hopeless, but Arwen's last stand has yet to come, I think. She may have some time left."

"You have never had the gift of foresight, and now you do not have your grace to steer you properly," Legolas told her dryly, disbelieving and sounding fatigued again.

Arathell shook her head and raised her chin a little. "I do not speak with the words of Elves and premonitions of hope, Legolas. I know my sister. Being immortal has nothing whatsoever to do with it. This is something that I just _know_. It is far greater than Hope."

"Aragorn is Hope."

"And what is Hope without Knowledge?" she retorted. "Trust me, my friend, when I say that Arwen's story is not yet finished."

Arathell turned and walked away towards the railing, drumming her fingers on the rotten wood. "How much farther?" Gimli asked.

"We will come upon Osgiliath within the hour," Brastor replied. "We will have to make the trek from there to the city, which with any luck, will not be buried under rubble."

"We cannot hope to succeed with that kind of mentality," Aragorn told him. "Sharpen your sword and not your tongue in my presence. Théoden should already be there – the sun is rising."

"And the Dead?" Legolas remarked, sounding as though he had roused himself enough for this battle.

"They will come when the time is proper and not a moment sooner," Aragorn replied. "Osgiliath is overrun, but with our army, they should be of no consequence. Minas Tirith is our only goal – head for the city and leave Osgiliath to the Dead."

"It is expected that the Haradrim will also make an appearance," Arathell added, turning from the water to look at her comrades. "They will be bringing oliphaunts, so we must be prepared for that. Prince Imrahil should already be in place with Denethor and Gandalf."

"Has there been any word on the Nine?" Brastor drawled.

She bit her lip and looked at Aragorn. "We did not see a note of them in the plans, but it can only be assumed that they will be present," he replied.

Brastor turned from the helm, looking hard at Aragorn. "This battle was created for the same purpose as Helm's Deep. The world of Men is to be no longer and all opposition cut down in only the most gruesome of ways. They will be merciless in a way that none of us have ever seen." Aragorn's lips rubbed together in thought. "To Sauron, this is the battle to end all battles. This is his winning move. The Nazgûl will most definitely be present – all of them. Whatever demons they bring on the ground will be nothing compared to the havoc the Nine will bring upon us. And you know who will be leading them."

Arathell's hand subconsciously went to the scar on her chest. "Angmar," she growled.

"Angmar indeed," Brastor snapped. "And what is that has been foretold of him?"

She sneered and looked away. "Glorfindel said that no living Man could kill him."

"Let us hope that the Dead do not somehow count as alive. They move and speak and think just as the living do."

"Who is to say that it must be the race of Man?" Legolas asked.

"Glorfindel never killed him," she said quietly.

Everyone sighed. "And Women? Are they unable?" Gimli suddenly asked.

All of them looked suddenly at her and she felt her breath lodge in her throat. "I have grown much since my last encounter with Angmar, to be sure. But if there is one creature I fear in this world, it would be him. I was lucky to walk away with my life that day."

"No one is demanding," Aragorn soothed. "The Dead can eliminate him."

"And if that does not work?" Brastor rounded.

Arathell nearly whimpered at the thought, but steadied herself carefully. She was not afraid to die and if she died to give life to those she loved, then she would gladly lay down her life. "I will intervene." Aragorn did not seem keen on the idea, but she raised her hand to look at him gently. "This is my choice."

There was silence then and none of them moved, hardening their minds for the battle. Fingers were already dancing on hilts and stashed bows as though it was a nervous twitch. In the distance, there was a great thundering smack and the grass shuddered. "The oliphaunts are already there," she muttered.

"We have some time," Aragorn tried to tell her.

"We arrive in ten minutes," Brastor announced.

Still, no one moved, but everyone's breathing escalated. They could hear the trumpeting of the great beasts now and the harsh footfalls were becoming more frequent.

"Only five minutes."

Aragorn moved to her and kissed her hard before she could say a word. He pulled away to set his forehead on hers. Though it was often that they showed their love this way, it was different this time. "I love you," Aragorn muttered, words caught somewhere in the back of his throat.

"We will live to see tomorrow," she breathed, repeating his old words as a way to calm herself.

He smiled tenderly, hand reaching to stroke her cheek. "Yes," he agreed. "Say it anyway," he pleaded.

"I love you," she hastily said with a watery smile.

"Everyone down," Brastor commanded. "Osgiliath is in sight."

She bowed down under the railing, feeling her heartbeat go faster and faster in her chest. The clanging of swords was evident in her ears now and she watched with the others through gaps in the wood as a horde of Orcs decorated the shore. They were waiting for an ally that would never come now and that thought gave her some courage as they squatted there.

"Late as usual!" a scratchy voice erupted into her ears. The sound was even dryer now without the grace of the Elves protecting her from the sound. Death cracked through the Orc's tone, as if he was choking already on the blood of his victims. The voice sickened her and she grimaced at it. "Pirate scum!" he insulted. "There's knife work here that needs doing!" he barked.

"Come on, you Sea Rats!" another Orc growled. "Get off your ships!"

With a yell, Aragorn leapt up and over the railing and she hurried to join him with the others at her side.

The look of surprise on the Orcs' faces was something she vowed to never forget. The twinge of fear that they worked so hard to impart to their enemies was laid bare before them, obvious and unable to be hidden away.

She stalked alongside Aragorn with her head held high, only now drawing Ristor from its sheath and watching with excitement as the fear grew in her opponents. "I quite feel that today is the day for blood," she called, walking still with the others.

"A day for vengeance indeed," Brastor added.

"There's plenty for the both of us. May the best Dwarf win," Gimli barked.

Aragorn led the charge, Andúril erected high in the morning light with a yell of anger so loud, it blotted out all other noises in her ears. A glimmer of cold green appeared in her peripheral vision and she smirked.

The Dead were following.

They had been summoned.

When she met with the first line of the enemy, her smirk turned into laughter, feeling Ristor rip through their hastily made armor without any hindrance. Some attempted to fight back, but the majority of them ran towards the burning city beyond, only to be run down by the Dead's floating feet.

The Dead were ahead of them all in an instant, running towards Minas Tirith and looking eagerly for an opponent worthy of their weapons. Finding none, she watched with a proud smile as they bombarded the herd of oliphaunts before diverging. Some glided through the city like a rusty emerald waterfall, flowing up and up through the rings of her city.

She paused for a brief moment when she looked at it, her feet falling on the edges of Pelennor Fields. There was fire raging inside of the white stone, turning everything steadily to ash. Despite the glare of the sun bouncing off of the Dead, the sight was terrifying to her. The green, while she knew was assisting in their endeavors, made Minas Tirith look like a beacon of death, rather than the beauty that she remembered.

The battle would soon be over.

And she could not let the Dead have all of the fun.

Arathell shook her head, dismissing the sight of her home for a moment before charging deeper into the horde of Orcs and evil Men.

Ristor handled the battle for her, with her mind barely giving it any thought whatsoever, only looking for the next cloaked horror to destroy.

The oliphaunts were falling like flies around her and in one of the brief moments she looked up and away from Ristor's chosen opponent, she witnessed Legolas practically dancing his way up one of the great beasts, watching the carriage of Men fall from its back to be smothered in green. Legolas ran to the head of the animal, and she saw it fall with a loud scream of pain and Legolas slid down the falling trunk with grace.

Arathell wanted to roll her eyes at his obvious display of the Elven prowess.

She continued running through the hordes, throwing herself at any enemy that moved in her direction. Iron beating on iron was now the only sound in her ears, and to her, it was music. It was a fight that was not yet over. Arathell saw horses darting to and fro, scattered but no less intimidating as they flowed through the onslaught.

Soon, cheerful cries were vibrating in her ears, but now was not the time for celebration.

Reality caught up with her in an instant as soon as the battle was over, fallen enemies astride fallen heroes. The victory was dampened soon as everyone observed just how many of their own littered the ground. The Enemy had departed in fear, being run down soon after by the Dead.

Her eyes raked the fields for Aragorn and the others, exhaling a loud sigh of relief when she saw them all, carefully coming together and assessing the damage. Her footfalls were heavy as she chased after them, breathing hard through her mouth and nose.

Aragorn's eyes found hers as she charged them, smiling grimly at her when she finally joined his side. There were no words that they were able to impart to one another. Fires were spackles on the backdrop of the city, orange bursts amidst steadily graying stone. The banners of Rohan around her were black from flames extinguished and tattered. They even looked like Mordor's colors if she did not observe them carefully.

They had made it to their home, but the state of their home was nothing exactly to be happy about.

The Dead were massing in front of them now and she looked back at the Fields. She hated these infernal things, but she and Aragorn owed them their lives, as well as the lives of thousands of others within the city.

Gandalf and Pippin were there, allowing Arathell to release another sigh of relief. Pippin's happy face was gone now, so absent that it was as if it had never been there at all. Death painted itself on his grimy features, Cruel Reality cocooning it in an embrace that he should never have had to experience.

She could not locate the other three Elves that had been in her company, but given that they were successful healers, she never would have supposed that they would have lingered on the battlefield where their talents would be better put to use elsewhere.

Her mind was held heavy at the thought of her brothers, and she prayed to the Valar that they had survived this battle and were only inside of the city offering help.

"Release us," the Dead King's voice trolled in her ears. Arathell finally looked back at them all. Would that they could remain – if only to take on Mordor for her and the others, she thought. Her people would be safe and the Dead would rid the world of Mordor's hordes long enough to perhaps destroy the Ring once and for all.

"Bad idea," Gimli said in a hurried whisper. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead," he told them.

Although she agreed wholeheartedly with Gimli's statement, she knew better than to demand such a thing from the Dead. Aragorn would not be injured by them, but that did not mean that the others close to her would not be. They were unpredictable and that was enough for anyone to keep their word in regards to them. Furthermore… Aragorn had given them his word, and Arathell knew that there would not be a Man more honorable than the future King of Gondor.

"You gave us your word!" the Dead growled, shaking with fury.

"I hold your oath fulfilled," Aragorn said quietly. "Go. Be at peace."

Gimli huffed beside her, but she nodded in approval with Aragorn's decision. Her hand fell on his shoulder in comfort as they all watched the Dead disappear into dust in the wind.

* * *

 **Again, I am sorry for how long this chapter took to get up here, but please let me know what you think of it! Any thoughts about that dream? Or maybe any notes about Legolas and Arwen?**

 **I don't know when I am going to be updating again, what with Christmas AND New Year's falling on Sunday, my normal update day, but there is a chance that I'll update around this time next week, so be on the lookout!**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	77. Chapter 77

**So… Hi…! I am so sorry for getting this up as late as I am. I promise that this story is completely finished, and it is ready for your reading pleasure, but my goodness… I could go into the hell that I have been through in the past month and a half or so, but I'm not going to bother you with such things. It's unproductive, but just know that I wasn't sitting and twiddling my thumbs. I am terribly sorry again, and I hope that I can get back on a regular updating schedule.**

 **I will try to respond to the wonderful reviews that you guys have left me in the past few weeks, but if I miss you, feel free to PM me and have a good yell. I haven't gotten around to responding yet; more concerned with getting this chapter up, but please expect responses soon.**

 **On that note, I probably should say THANK YOU SO MUCH for the reviews that I have gotten and for the concerned PMs. I appreciate those more than you know, and I can certainly use such words of encouragement.**

 **I'll get on it now…**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Blackbird - Alter Bridge

"Let the wind carry you home  
Blackbird fly away  
May you never be broken again"

* * *

 _Gimli huffed beside her, but she nodded in approval with Aragorn's decision. Her hand fell on his shoulder in comfort as they all watched the Dead disappear into dust in the wind._

Aragorn turned around at last, facing a growing crowd around them. Éomer was present, along with some of Rohan's generals.

Gandalf inclined his head before Aragorn and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him give the tiniest of smiles of satisfaction. "You have saved your city, Elessar," she whispered.

"Without you, I surely would have been lost, Ilmien," he replied before looking more sternly at the others around him. "Search the Fields," he ordered. "All that are not yet passed can be brought to the Houses of Healing. Assemble a pile of the Enemy and burn them for all of the city to see. Burn the Mûmakils where they lie. Tonight, the Free Peoples will know that they rest in peace and without fear."

"And the deceased?" one of the Rohirrim questioned.

"If they are of Rohan, and given our position here on the fields, they surely are, that question may be directed to your king."

"Where is Théoden?" Pippin muttered, looking at Éomer with concern.

There was silence and Arathell kicked at the ground, feeling a knot tie in her stomach when she considered who else had been in the battle today.

"A warrior interceded the Nazgûl," another mentioned carefully. Upon further inspection, she noticed that it was Lord Erkenbrand, beard matted with blood and curls of his hair clinging to his head with sweat as well. "The Witch King – I saw him."

"What happened?" almost everyone demanded, taking a step closer to him.

"He had…" He exhaled, and she could hear the sadness encompassing him as he spoke of what was likely the fall of Rohan's King. "The beast had nearly devoured him. It spat out the King, his horse was dead and draped on top of him. Angmar had clearly given the order to finish him but… I have never seen anyone so valiant in all of my life. I do not know his name, but the lad stepped in front of the beast, defending his King." He paused again and everyone waited with baited breath.

"We do not have long – speak quicker, my lord," Gandalf finally ordered. "Others are in need of us."

Erkenbrand nodded speedily. "I could not witness the entire encounter but Angmar and this boy fought fiercely and… He killed him."

"Who killed who?" Gimli demanded.

"The lad – he killed Angmar; I saw it! His blade pierced the Witch King straight in his hooded face and the demon crumpled and fell in a pile of black robes!"

"What did he look like?" Arathell snapped. "It is said that no living Man can kill Angmar. What you speak of is impossible."

"Well, unless the demon comes to smite me now, I cannot explain it to you," Erkenbrand stated. "The boy – he had long blond hair. Indeed, I have never seen a Man with hair so long, but he was clad in ordinary armor and wielded his sword with all of the strength –"

"It was not a boy," she interrupted. Now all eyes were focused on her, but she could only stare at Éomer with a trembling lip. The heir to Rohan's throne understood the stare too quickly and took off running through the sea of the dead and dying. Her eyes fell to the ground and to Ristor who she had yet to sheathe. The blade glimmered in the streaming sunlight dejectedly.

It had not been Éowyn's duty to kill Angmar. It was Arathell. It should have been Arathell.

Where was Éowyn now? Where was her friend?

Was she alive?

Was she… No. No, Arathell could not bear to finish the thought.

It was Arathell's fault.

Arathell told her to run into this.

And where was Merry? What would Pippin say to her now? What would he say if he knew how she encouraged his best friend to join the cause?

"Arathell," Aragorn murmured, having come to the conclusion she had led Éomer to.

"Where are my brothers?" she demanded, looking up at Gandalf.

"They are inside the Houses of Healing, my lady," the Wizard soothed. "They tend to those who are injured; they are safe."

"And my company?" Brastor added, taking a step towards Gandalf.

"I do not know of their whereabouts," he admitted.

"Did you see Merry?" Pippin asked, looking at her and the others.

She barely had the energy to shake her head. "How are you sure he came with the Rohirrim?" Legolas remarked.

"Merry has always been the hero," Pippin said gently, making Arathell want to burst into tears. "He has looked after me since before I can remember. He's always been there. Merry always helps where he can. Excuse me," he hastily added before turning and following Éomer into the rabble.

"We should be looking as well," Arathell started but Gandalf moved to stand in front of her.

"You and Aragorn would be better suited tending to the hurt. A Woman by the name of Ioreth would be very grateful for the help. Go to her. She knows well of healing hands. We will do what we can here, but you must continue to save all you possibly can."

"Gandalf, I have forsaken my grace; my powers are nothing!" she yelled. "Let me look for them. Please." She could feel her voice breaking in her throat and the tears that had threatened to spill over finally made their appearance, along with some rather uncomely sniffles that she couldn't care less about.

"Whether you have turned yourself into a toad or a flower, I do not care!" Gandalf yelled back, unafraid. "You are to be the Queen of this country – go and save your people!"

A hand fell on her arm, and she did not need to look at its owner to know who it belonged to. She yanked her limb away, still defiant and wanting to do nothing but look for her friends. Still, she continued walking towards the city, lungs shaking in her ribcage when she now thought of what she would see beyond the shattered stone gates.

Before she and Aragorn could get very far, a loud scream pierced the air, and she spun rapidly, eyes running over the plains before falling on Éomer. He clutched a lifeless form in his arm, yelling at the heavens before looking across the Fields at her. Her breath sputtered to a stop, seeing long, beautiful blonde hair tarnished by the blood and perils of war. "No," she tried to say, but the word was caught.

Ringing was in her ears and when she made to move to the siblings, Aragorn held her back and continued to tug her in the direction of the city. "There is nothing we can do now," he whispered.

"You don't know that for sure," she growled.

"Don't," he commanded back. "Now is not the time for the two of us to be divided."

"She was my friend!"

"They are our people!"

She sniffled again and wanted to scream, just as Éomer had done. But from the look on his face, it had not made him feel any better. "Éowyn killed Angmar, Aragorn," she said quietly. "I was supposed to be there to rid the world of that… that demon – that monster. He nearly killed me, and it was meant for me to have my revenge. That girl has been nothing but a friend and has wanted nothing more than to save those she loved." Tears began to seep from her eyes. "She died fighting a battle that she should never have had to face. Éowyn deserves to have her friend there with her now. She deserved me before – when she was alive, but now I am too late."

Aragorn sighed and reached down to take her hand. The touch brought back one thousand memories – sitting in front of the Doors of Moria, sitting in Moria, him healing her hand. It seemed like centuries ago, and yet it was only months. The world had been dark and scary then, but she would have given anything to have it go back to those moments. It was at the first bloom of their relationship, back to a time where she only perceived friendship. His hand was raw and emotive, grounding and petrifying all at once. It brought so much comfort to her while also breaking down all of the precious walls she had erected for herself. She wanted to cry. No – she wanted to _sob_.

"Éowyn has done more for this world than any Man has done," Aragorn said quietly.

"Do not try to persuade me to leave her here," she barked back.

He shook his head. "I will not. But her brother is with her now, and even with a friendship as invaluable as yours, can you really deem it equal to the love her brother has for her? Éowyn did fight for the safety of those she loved. She was real and beautiful and braver than any girl should ever have to be. But dismissing those she has saved in favor of tending to her… that would be countering everything she has fought so hard to achieve. She wanted to save the race of Men. We should aid her in that goal." Arathell shook her head, tears still dripping from her brown eyes and turning the world to blurs of color – a painting doused with water for far too long. Still, Aragorn persisted and took another step closer to her. "I am to be Gondor's King." She took a shuddering breath and tried to meet his gaze through the mist of tears. "You are to be its Queen. Now, more than ever, this city needs strength and hope. These people need leaders who will intervene on their behalf and treat them with the respect and compassion that they deserve. They need to know that they will be looked after. Arathell, as unfortunate as it is… our people's needs must come before our personal friends if we are to prove to them our worth. They have not had monarchs for over a millennium – none of them remember the days where a King made decisions for their futures. They will be hesitant to let us inside of their trust."

"So it is political now," she assumed sarcastically.

"Yes and no," he replied. "Yes because these are the expected roles and duties of a King and Queen. No, because these are the expected roles of those with the capability to help. Éowyn, the heroine we could not have done without… is beyond our help. The people in there, however, are not. It would be a disgrace to her memory to tarry with her when our skills can be better put to use elsewhere."

Arathell hated that he was right. She was angry at herself still for letting Death take her dear friend in such a way. It was unfair, and Arathell gladly would have died in Éowyn's place if she had been given the chance.

But Aragorn was right. The past was the past and what could be done for the future was now what was most important. And there were people inside who were crying for loved ones just as Éomer cried for Éowyn. She needed to help them in all of the ways she knew how.

Her free hand reached to touch Rhetar, picking at a dried piece of blood from the stone like a scab – healed and prepare to work. She gave a shaky nod and let Aragorn pull her again towards the city.

When they walked through the rubble, they both wanted to pause – she could feel that much. Arathell could feel his heart racing in the palm of her hand, fearful. Corpses were littered just as they were outside of the walls, but these were different. Any of amount of death was treacherous and tragic, true. But the armor was clear-cut on these soldiers. Helmets were fashioned with great wings, giving their spirits flight. Dull eyes peaked out under these helmets, unblinking and with one last look of horror smudged on their fair faces. Some still held swords; others were strewn about like dolls the Orcs had had their fun with. Arathell wanted to be sick.

They kept moving through the rubble, making sure never to step on one of the fallen. "They are so many," Aragorn hummed, his voice dry and desolate.

Arathell could not think of a word to comfort him, so she only squeezed his hand and looked along the street. "The Houses are high in the rings," she finally said. "We must keep moving."

"Someone should be present to see if they are all –" He didn't want to finish the sentence.

"We need to get to the sixth circle," she said again, continuing to pull him through the streets.

"Never would I have thought that my first walk through my city would be like this," he said.

"Many things happen in ways we never could have predicted," she soothed.

They did not say much more, each loaning and receiving the other's strength from time to time. When Arathell saw a young girl with jet black hair in the third circle buried under the dead weight of an Orc, she wanted to scream. The girl was dead, clear blue eyes vacant – thankfully not green. Aragorn had thrown the Orc off of her, the creature already dead with a firm stab going through the middle. What the Gondorian had clearly not known was that his sword had pierced further than through just the Orc. The girl's pretty brown dress had a red, wet front surrounding a long slice in the fabric.

"Aragorn," she sobbed, hand shaking as it reached for her mouth.

"Don't look," he said quietly, closing the girl's eyes and removing her from the ghastly scene.

Arathell, usually so stoic in the face of death, promptly vomited in the street. The girl could have been her Kara. It could have been Glorsha; it could have been Arabiff. It made her sick. Her throat was raw but croaking as she tried to regain control over herself. Aragorn's hand slipped its way into hers, turning her a little and providing a scrap of cloth he had found to clean her mouth with.

Once they reached the fourth circle, they found severed heads, and here, it was Aragorn who had to rush them both away from the area. "No Man should have to bear that," he said angrily, the grasp on her hand hard and nearly painful, but it kept her mind from picturing what she had just seen.

At last, they reached the sixth circle, and here the activity was the greatest. They had not seen much of anyone down on the lower levels, but now it could be seen that Gondor's life was not yet extinguished.

Everyone was running rapidly from one corner to another, shouts for water and more herbs ringing clear. All of it stemmed from one house at the end of the street, embraced by gardens that were not yet burnt and with a proudly standing structure, almost forbidding in its defiance to be destroyed. It could not have been a better representation of what this country's people were capable of.

No one took of notice of them as they walked, still hand-in-hand to the house. There were no guards stationed outside of the doors; all hands available for assistance were being used to the fullest.

Once they walked inside, the noise was almost deafening, cries for help and need drowning out the pitiful moans of the dying and injured.

They looked hastily around for a matron, or someone properly in charge. A Woman hurried around the chamber, shouting orders in a heady voice to anyone who would listen as she leaned over victim after victim.

She dragged Aragorn to her and stared down at her as she tended to a silent patient. "Are you Ioreth?" she asked coolly. The old Woman looked up, eyes widening in surprise and then followed their arms down to where Arathell and Aragorn still held hands.

"We have come to help," Aragorn said gently.

"It's you," the Woman breathed, a tendril of grey hair falling in her face as she stared at them both. "You've come," she said.

"We have," Aragorn agreed. "I am Elessar, and beside me is Ilmien. What can be done?"

Ioreth seemed as though she wanted to cry tears of joy. A brief smile decorated her face, and Arathell knew instantly that she was a beautiful Woman in her youth. "Anything, Your Majesties…" she said hastily. "Please, do whatever you believe to be the most necessary." Both she and Aragorn nodded and Arathell finally released his hand and prepared to turn to face the onslaught. "However," Ioreth added in a louder voice. "The Steward's son was brought here before the cessation of the battle. Our Captain Faramir was nearly burnt alive because of Denethor. The Halfling said that he had been poisoned by Morgul Arrows before in an attempt to retake Osgiliath. He is beyond my skill, but perhaps you may know of a way to save him?" It was not a question.

Arathell met Aragorn's eyes. "I will look after the others; tend to Faramir," she offered, seeing him nod in agreement before letting Ioreth lead him to the wounded Captain.

She located her brothers next, both of them drenched in the blood of Gondorians as they did all that was possible to assist. They both smiled at her, unsurprised by her presence. They each gave her a nod of acknowledgement before looking back at their patients.

Lagordir and Gorthion were both present as well, and she approached them next. "Where is Amdir?" she asked in Sindarin.

Gorthion huffed and made a swift chop at a warrior's tattered leg. The noise of the ward prevented the sound of the thump of the dead limb hitting the floor. The patient had already been asleep, thankfully, likely lost in the recesses of his mind.

Lagordir bit his lip before meeting her gaze with a frown. "He is gone," he replied simply.

"Brastor is –"

"Now isn't the time!" Gorthion snapped at her. "Brastor will handle himself when he learns. Until then, keep your mouth shut and assist! These are your people!"

Her eyes flared and she marched up to him and shoved him away from the patient with the stumped leg. "Get out," she growled. "I will handle this Man from here – with you healing him, he is likely to end up dead. Get out!" she yelled.

Gorthion left without another word and Arathell turned her attention to the Man before her. Knowing that without her grace, her healing gift would be gone, she still reached down and let her hand rest on the halved leg. She sighed in concentration, staring with determination before feeling absolutely nothing of her power come to her fingers. She sighed again in defeat, ignoring the sting it sent to her heart.

A bowl of clean water was already prepared and set next to the bedroll of the patient and she hurriedly found a clean cloth to dip it in. She cleaned the wound as a mortal would clean it, wishing that she had had at least athelas to soothe the pain that the soldier was likely dreaming of.

Wiping her brow once the wound was cleaned and bandaged, she went in search of another poor soul.

Broken bones were the least of her worries as she was met more often with deep lacerations that often required stitching. One of the patients still had an Orc's knife embedded in his side and was too fearful to allow anyone to remove it.

"It is keeping my insides together," he insisted when she finally approached, having just collected some athelas from Aragorn to tackle the stab wound.

"It is killing you," she disagreed sternly. Arathell took some of the leaves – a very small portion – and crunched them into another bowl of water. By now, the soldiers with any strength left had brought in a great cauldron of water and set it up in the middle of the ward for all of the healers to use. "It needs to be removed."

The Man shook his head with fear and she finally saw the tears that were beginning to spill form his grey eyes. "I survived this battle; I will not die now!" he yelled, wincing at the pain his volume had caused.

"No, you won't," she agreed before ripping the blade from his side. He gasped before letting out a severe grunt. Her hand was covering the wound immediately, praying to the Valar to work a miracle with this Man. "What is your name?" she asked calmly, taking deep and steadying breaths and waiting for him to copy them.

"T-Tingion, lady," he coughed, wincing, but she persisted to hold him still.

She pursed her lips at the name. How fitting it was – a son of metal – a son of an age that he should never have had to bear witness to. "My name is –" she paused, wondering what name it was truly that he needed to hear at this moment. "I am Ilmien, but you may call me Arathell today – you have earned it, I daresay."

"Are you an Elf?" he asked, clearly doing everything in his power to keep his mind off of the pain he was feeling. "You are too fair to be Man."

She smiled and slowly began to withdraw her hand from his side. It was still bleeding rather badly, but it was not as prolific as it was before. "I was," she answered. "But today, I am Man, and today, most importantly, I am here for you and your country."

"I saw you walking in with the other – the Man," Tingion said carefully. "You walk with much purpose, and your strides are very long." Arathell nodded, focused now on cleaning the wound. The athelas in the water was helping him greatly; at least his eyes were no longer filled to the brim with tears. "The matron here was very surprised by you both. The other handmaidens here are beginning to ask questions of you and your company."

"What do they wish to know?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow and pulling the cloth away to look further at the damage. "You will need stitches."

"Yes, I suppose," he agreed. His breath was ragged when she approached his split side with the needle and thread but did nothing to push her away. "Ioreth – the matron here – says that it is the healing hands of the King that will deliver us. And then you and this Man arrive and you both have set out to doing such things."

"That was not a question," she reminded, taking care to not hurt him as she sewed the great opening closed.

"Is he Gondor's King? And you its Queen?" he asked bluntly.

Arathell snipped at the thread once she was done and stood, looking down at Tingion in his bed with a gentle smile. "Those may be our eventual titles, but today, we are warrior and warrior looking out for Gondor and its peoples. Titles are not something to hide behind, and we would both much rather have you know us as the Man and Woman who wish to assist and not as a ruler – such as those you have had in the past."

Tingion smiled grandly at the words. "My wife will be pleased; I am sure."

"Arathell!" Aragorn's voice called over the noises, and when she turned, she saw Éomer holding a fragile girl in his arms. Or that was how Arathell saw her. Her long blonde hair was cascading down her back, limbs hanging loosely to the side as her brother clutched her to his front like a child. Likely, that was what he saw.

"Excuse me," she bid to Tingion before fleeing to her friend's side, looking down at her when Éomer rested her on an empty bedroll. "She's –"

"My sister has fight in her still," Éomer said proudly. "But please. Please – I do not know what to do now."

Aragorn took a quick investigation for wounds and looked up at Éomer with a soft smile. "She does not bleed – she may yet live." Arathell exhaled loudly and clutched Éomer's arm. Aragorn continued with the search, hands resting on her right arm and rolling up the sleeve of mail. There was nothing there, but when he turned to her left arm, her arm naturally pulled itself closer to her. When the sleeve was gently rolled away, all three of them paused at the sight of her arm. None of her bones were piercing her skin – thank the Valar, but the entire forearm was littered with greying lines. It was as if her pale skin was translucent for them to see the way her bones had shattered at whatever impact.

"Her shield arm," she murmured. "Her right hand also holds signs of injury," she added, kneeling down next to her friend and taking her hand. "I cannot tell its exact ailment, but it seems as if it is… poisoned, but not with actual poison," she said hastily, looking up at Éomer to soothe the anxious brother's nerves.

Arathell looked at Aragorn, wondering at an explanation. "She killed Angmar, Arathell," he said quietly. "That is bound to leave its mark."

"How can you tell this?" Éomer demanded, crouching down beside his sister as well and wringing his hands at whatever thought was darkest in his head.

Arathell reached to rest one of her hands on her own scar on her chest. "Angmar has left his mark on few – most perish if met with his wrath. Fortunately, or unfortunately – it depends on how you think of it – I am one of those few."

"Will it heal?" Éomer asked.

Arathell looked back down at Éowyn and began stroking the girl's cheek. "She will carry this remnant for the rest of her life, I daresay. But I think that if the most grievous of her injuries lie in her hand and arm, she is very likely to survive. She has already proven to the world that she is stronger than most. You should be very proud of her, my lord," she told him, looking up into the honey eyes of Rohan's new King. "She did what Men and even Elves could not. When she wakes, she will be met with more praise than I think she ever imagined."

"Can you promise that she will wake?" he asked further.

Arathell traded a look with Aragorn before looking back at the distressed brother. "I believe that I'd be willing to make that promise. It may take time for her mind to heal, but I believe she will come back eventually."

Aragorn drew up some more of the athelas and water before dipping his rag into it and ringing it out. He washed at her broken arm and they all watched as Éowyn shuddered a little at the feel of the athelas working on her skin. "She will need a sling for this," he remarked and Arathell nodded hastily.

"She may need one, but she may have to go without," Arathell said in a whisper. "Supplies are few."

"She killed Angmar – she deserves one!" Éomer shouted.

"If she asks for one, we will provide surely, but until she wakes, there is no reason to apply one," Arathell retorted. "She won't be moving it in her sleep."

"She is coming to," Aragorn hushed and everyone drew in closer to see the fluttering of Éowyn's eyes. Everyone sighed when she looked around and made eye contact with each of them. "You brave –"

"Stupid girl," Éomer and Arathell finished.

"Can't the chastising wait until I have learned what has happened?" Éowyn replied, surprisingly coherent. She looked down at her left arm and frowned. "Will I ever have use of it again?" Her question was blunt – quick to the point, as Éowyn's questions always were, and the sound of her voice calmed Arathell's nerves dramatically.

"Yes, it is possible, given the right amount of healing," Aragorn answered. "You must refrain from using it, however. Unfortunately, supplies are few – we may not have enough slings. If you believe you will require one, we can arrange for it, otherwise –"

"If it can be wrapped with common cloth, that will suffice," she interrupted, voice cold and abrupt. She reached with her right hand to touch her face before pausing, staring at her hand with confusion. "My hand?"

Arathell sighed and took it gently, meeting Éowyn's gaze. "Doing battle with Angmar left its mark, mellon. But take heart – the pain is not for forever." She opened the palm and looked at it, seeing a small burst of white on her palm, discolored to the point it appeared like Death. It was the same color as her own scar. Arathell sighed and reached for Rhetar, still draped around her neck. She pulled the stone free and passed it to Éowyn, hoping that perhaps Rhetar would confer enough energy to rid Éowyn of the scar. "Do not lose this. It may help for now, but I will want this back."

Éowyn nodded without a word of thanks and looked between the three of them for a moment longer. "Uncle?" she asked, looking solely at her brother.

At this, Aragorn and Arathell stood and moved away from the scene, giving one another small smiles of comfort before diving back in to heal the others still in need.

Knowing that Éowyn was alive was more than what Arathell could have hoped for at that moment, and the relief wanted to pour from her like a dam bursting. Her friend was safe for the time being, against all hope, she – a Woman, nay a _girl_ – had survived and beaten the Witch King. It was something that not even Arathell had been able to do, and Éowyn had lived to tell the tale.

Rohan's King was dead however, Arathell thought. Théoden and she had had their differences, but it was known well enough that he was a good King and truly wanted what was best for his people. She knew that, while stubborn and pig-headed sometimes, even Aragorn looked to him partially for guidance. Théoden was teaching Gondor's future King and did not even know it, most likely.

She tended to others with more relaxation, smiling easier and passing words of comfort, and dare she say it: hope. Arathell thought it would be hard to pass along something that she was not in possession of herself; however she found that not only was she able to convince others, she was able to convince herself. Everything built up inside of her like a volcano and made her warm to the very bits between her toes. The future was no longer some impossible thing, and nor was it something that would last for eternity. Now, being Human and having won one of the most influential battles of their time, she grinned at thoughts of the future. It seemed as though it could happen. They faced the hordes of Mordor today and they had lived. They were broken and tired, but they had _lived_. It was an amazing thought.

* * *

 **There it is! Thoughts? I'm sorry that it isn't quite happy; next chapter will have brighter moments. But are there any thoughts about… maybe a certain Elf?**

 **Again, I am sorry for how long this took to get out, and I am really going to try to make a better effort at getting these chapters out to you sooner. And since this semester, I don't have as demanding of a class schedule, and since all graduate school applications are turned in… I am going to try to work more on Kara's story. No promises that that will ever see the light of day, cause I have hit a block with it, but I am going to try.**

 **ALSO - I notice that we are at 684 reviews! That is so crazy and I love you all bunches! But you realize what this means, yes? 16 more reviews to go until someone wins a one-shot! In the case that we get that number this time around (I wouldn't be at all hurt if we didn't) make sure that your PMs is enable and you have an idea for what you would like me to write about! I just don't write smut or homosexual material (not that I have anything against either - I just don't consider my writing style fitting in comfortably with such genres). THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE!**

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 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	78. Chapter 78

**Well, look who is here! And not way super late this time! Still a couple days longer than the original weekly update, but at least it hasn't turned into a monthly sort of thing…**

 **I realize that I did not get to your reviews, and I intend to do that after I upload this chapter, so stick with me! I appreciate all of the kind, thoughtful words! And remember, we are only ten reviews away from someone being awarded a one-shot, so please submit your thoughts, have your PMs turned on, and maybe we'll get to it this chapter!**

 **Also, believe it or not, but we are closing in on the end of Part Five. Remember, there are six parts and an epilogue so… wow, I can't believe we are almost done! Part Six should be starting up within the next couple of chapters – potentially the next one, depending on how I want to divvy things up. Thank you for staying with me for this long!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

The Call - Regina Spektor

"It started out as a feeling  
Which then grew into a hope  
Which then turned into a quiet thought  
Which then turned into a quiet word

And then that word grew louder and louder  
'Til it was a battle cry"

* * *

That night, she reconvened with those of her company, Pippin dragging in Merry, who despite having a long gash on the side of his head, seemed to only need some rest and encouragement. And food – plenty of food. But his laugh was hearty and Pippin was proud of what his cousin had done while Merry could only beam at the thought of clumsy Pippin saving Gondor's Steward. They were quite the pair, and seeing them together again had only invigorated her more. She could not be more proud of them both she thought to herself as she placed sweet kisses on their heads when she was ready to leave the ward. Pippin had sworn that he would no longer be leaving Merry's side and Merry seemed content with Pippin's hasty retort to Arathell.

Arathell cast one more glance at Éowyn before she left the ward. The girl's arm had been wrapped tightly by some cloth and she had been changed out of her armor, a gentle white gown taking its place. Her long hair was no longer matted with blood or sweat, having been washed and brushed with care. Arathell knew that Éowyn hadn't said much since she had spoken with her brother. Even though her name was praised already in the halls of the Healing Houses, she was quiet and withdrawn. Arathell worried greatly for her. She wondered now if battle had been what the girl had really, truly needed and if being on the field hadn't broken her fragile soul even more. By the Valar, she prayed that it was not so.

When Arathell finally left, she worked her way to the Great Hall, knowing that the cooks had prepared a small feast of sorts for the soldiers and those that had survived. She was stopped frequently, mostly by Women who had seen her tend to their husbands before. Children had held her hand and thanked her for saving their fathers. The old hadn't embraced her but had walked to her on shaky legs, staring up at her through squinted eyes. Some took her hand and squeezed, tears filling their eyes as they smiled gently. Others reached to touch her face, passing her sweet words of comfort and praise. Everyone had said that today, they were proud of their country, and they knew that they could rest easily with Aragorn and her on the throne. They started referring to her as the Rohirrim once had – the Miracle Queen.

She had had some time to change before arriving to the feast, bathing and brushing her long hair free of the knots the ships and battle had ensnared. Arathell stared at herself in the mirror, seeing herself as Human for the first time. Aragorn had been right – she did not truly look much different. Her ears were still pointed and her cheekbones high and swept away in prideful nonchalance. Her skin was still the color of lightly caramelized book pages. Her eyes were still the same lit brown she had seen in Helm's Deep. After that particular battle, she had felt happy and new. Now, after Pelennor Fields and experiencing Minas Tirith, she knew she was almost a different person. She was not only happy; she was content. She was proud of the Men in the Healing Wards, proud of Gondor, and moreover, she was willing to show faith for its future.

Despite being Human, Arathell Duvainith looked more like an Elf than she ever had before. She was home.

The bathroom was not closed and stony like the one at Helm's Deep. The walls here were white with black age lines checkering her vision. The tub was silver, shimmering like a waterfall, even with her dirtied bath water still inside of it. Intricate towels with the White Tree embroidered on them were delightfully rumpled from her usage. A small window glowed from the top of the large chamber, starlight twinkling through onto the mirror in front of her, illuminating her figure.

She chuckled and reached to the touch one of the reflected stars on the glass. This was not Arathell staring at her, she thought. This was Ilmien in all of her glory. This was who she was meant to be.

With one last sage smile at herself, she left the bathing room to come to her own bedchamber. Ioreth had shown her the room with a bright smile, talking speedily of how no one but Gondor's last Queen had lived in this room and that the upkeep still had not been squandered in the slightest. Apparently, it had been a silent rebellion against Denethor and his wishes. The King's chambers were equally kept as well as her own. Arathell had smiled at all of the words, but she knew that the moment she and Aragorn were married, there would be nothing to convince her to stay in this room when his bed was far more… well, it was as much her bed as it was his.

Nevertheless, the room was spectacular, with a bed as large as the hers in Rivendell. Stoic pillars of glittering silver were erected proudly at all four corners. The headboard was a beautifully sculpted piece of silver fanned out as the White Tree, all-encompassing even in its withered state. The bed was lined with rich colors of blue and grey, with brown furs scattered all over for special decadence. Pillows of all sizes were piled high against the headboard, soft in their fabric with frills and fringe of innocent whites embracing the richer colors.

A large window and accompanying balcony was on the east wall, meant to exemplify the colorful sunrises that the city had. Beside that was a wardrobe, mahogany wood that whispered mellow tunes to the firelight of the candles and torches beside it. Its doors were already open, an assortment of dresses on display.

Arathell carefully made her way over to them, smiling at the shimmering colors that reflected the colors of her bed. Royal blue was a Gondorian favorite evidently. Wondering if the dresses would even fit, she grabbed a startling silver one that practically glittered. She pursed her lips, thinking of all of the grey, shadowy dresses that resided in Rivendell.

No. Her name was not Shadow. It would never be Shadow again.

The silver dress fit her well enough, extenuating the darker tone of her skin and hair. She draped a dark blue shawl around her shoulders and turned to look in a mirror found on the wall immediately right to her wardrobe.

Arathell's smile grew, quite satisfied with her image. Hesitantly, she searched for her circlet, finding it and frowning a little at it. It was not the plainness that bothered her; even though she was proud of her appearance, leather and armor would always be the most loving. But this circlet was not what Ilmien, a Queen of Gondor would wear on the eve of a victory unprecedented.

She sighed and looked elsewhere in the wardrobe, finding three wooden boxes on the top shelf. Randomly choosing one, she opened it to find a silver circlet, simple in design and yet beautiful. Branches started at a point at the forehead and swept back, mingling in and around one another to form small, crystal blossoms at the ends.

Arathell did not know who wore it before her, but the rejuvenation of this country was underway and dusting off a few relics would perhaps remind Gondor of how far it had come and how much further it had the potential to go.

With yet another smile, she rested the circlet on her hair and gave herself one final look in the mirror, now feeling more at home than ever.

Leaving her feet bare, a small nod to her past as she had rarely ever worn shoes as an Elf in her lands, she left her chamber and walked along the torch-lit walls of the upper circle, following the growing conundrum of laughing Men.

Guards were perched outside of the large doors, their winged helmets primed and shined for the evening. Both Men's mouths opened in surprise to see her, their hardened masks falling away with admiration and surprise. "My lady," one murmured.

Arathell inclined her head a little, feeling embarrassed only now that there were eyes on her. She had been looked at in such a way before and hadn't even blinked at the attention. Now, under such scrutiny, she was unsure of herself. Comparisons to her angelic sister were flitting in her mind, and though these Men had never seen Arwen, there was still fear of being recognized only as a sister that made her hold her breath. Forgiving and apologizing were simple things in words, but in practice, jealousy was an opponent that did not pick favorites.

"It has been a long day," she finally said when neither guard had said anything more. "Please, spend your evening in whatever way you wish. Tonight, I daresay, this country will sleep in peace. Duties may be attended to in the morning."

Both hurriedly bowed their heads and removed their helmets before walking inside of the Great Hall, holding the stone doors open for her.

Arathell smiled a little before walking inside, holding her head high and trying to disguise her fear.

Music was playing lilting tunes with flutes and strings all around her and Men were shouting and laughing. The smell of beer and fresh food wafted through her nose as the hall greeted her.

She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and absorbing all of the sensations. These Men were alive. Against all odds, they had survived and were still able to smile. What could be more beautiful and inspiring?

Slowly, the noises fell to whispers and the music came to a wobbly stop. When her eyes opened, she noticed all of the Men staring at her, awe in their faces as much as it had been in the guards'.

Arathell felt sheepish but continued to try to hide it, fingers twitching at her side for a sword that was not there. Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for any familiar face and nearly heaving a sigh of the relief when the crowd parted a little for Aragorn to emerge, staring at her.

Her heart calmed in an instant and a grand smile overtook her as she looked at him. This was Elessar. Draped in stark black tunic and trousers, he was practically embalmed in white furs which lined a very rich blue cape. His grey eyes twinkled and his smile was probably just as large as hers.

He walked forward and reached for her hand which she instantly placed in his. He planted a firm kiss on her knuckles and continued looking into her eyes. They both paused there for a moment, again soaking in the magnitude of the moment. Places where neither of them dreamed they would be, and yet, here they were.

"Tis a rose," she heard a Man mumble to a friend.

"Nay, a diamond," another Man disagreed.

"I daresay an angel," another argued and by now Arathell blushed to which Aragorn smiled proudly.

He turned to look at the people. "A star," he announced, leaving no room for argument. "Tis the Lady Ilmien, of the Firstborn. She is an angel," he agreed with a smile as her blush grew, "an angel of Varda. And she comes now to be an angel of Gondor, at my side, as my Queen – the first Queen of the Telcontar line."

Her hand fell almost shakily on top of his and she turned to look at the enchanted audience. "I am Arathell, and I am no one particularly special," she breathed. "I was born as an Elf, but this I am no longer. Today, I align my fate with yours. Today, I am a Woman and a rather new, unexperienced one at that." She paused. "I am no angel, nor diamond, nor rose. I am merely a being to protect the peace and give courage to those in need of it. Tonight, more importantly, I am no hero. To claim my victory was as hard-fought as yours would be unbearable. This night is not to recognize the Queen, or King of Gondor, but those who lived and died defending this city and its freedom." Arathell smiled again. "Take heart and be merry – the heroes have won their respite."

Men around her slowly began clapping and cheering at her words. The music started again and people began dancing, calling out to Varda in thanks for their star, Ilmien and to Manwë for their healer and leader, Elessar. The King and Queen of the Valar embodied in the future King and Queen of Gondor.

Arathell laughed a little at the comparison and let Aragorn pull her through the crowds towards the back of hall toward the throne. She stared at the two great seats for a moment, seeing the taller, marbled chair of the King and the blackened obsidian of the Steward's chair. Aragorn followed her gaze. "Ilmien's seat will be on my right," he told her and again, she smiled.

"Telcontar?" she asked playfully, quirking an eyebrow in his direction.

Aragorn sheepishly smiled. "I always was fond of the title, Strider, and this allows me to keep some attachment to the name. Do you not like it?"

Arathell patted his arm gently. "I think I could not have chosen a finer name for you, my love." She sighed, the smile still plastered on her face from the joy surrounding them. "I do not know if I have ever been so happy," she commented, staring out at the throng of people cheering and laughing, going back to their games now that the excitement had left a little from her entrance.

"Me neither," he agreed, passing her a goblet of wine.

Mithrandir made his way to herself and Aragorn and she beamed at the sight of him, scolding him a little when he bowed. "My presence is much less important next to that of a Wizard, my friend."

"Have you solved my riddle?" he asked playfully.

Arathell could see herself in the gardens of Rivendell beside him, hearing promises of joy and a future full of content and peace. "I have," she answered, seeing Aragorn look curiously at the two of them. "I also believe that it was similarly discussed after the battle of Helm's Deep, Gandalf."

"Nothing like a happy reminder then, I suppose." Mithrandir nodded with a toothy grin. "There is still much to discuss, but such words can be traded tomorrow."

Both she and Aragorn nodded and looked back at the feast, watching the Wizard meander in and out of the darkly clad Men like a comet. "You look very beautiful tonight, meleth," Aragorn commented. "Royalty becomes you greatly."

"I could just as easily say the same about you," she replied, taking a sip of her wine. "How was Faramir when you left the wards?" Arathell asked suddenly. Gondor's newest Steward was the younger brother of Boromir, a Man she had been incapable of saving. To think that the world could potentially lose the last trace of her dear friend was an appalling thought and made her stomach churn unpleasantly.

Aragorn sighed. "He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, though this is to be expected," he explained. She raised an eyebrow at him in question. "His last waking hours have been filled with much grief – if he was of Elf-kind, I would fear too much has happened for his mind to ever have the chance of being whole again. I was told by the matron, Ioreth, that Denethor mistreated Faramir, always deeming Boromir to be the greater of the sons and blaming young Faramir for the death of his mother. She died in childbirth." Arathell's hand covered her lips a little at the news. Never had Boromir said anything about favoritism between the two brothers. "Faramir had lost Osgiliath to Mordor and Denethor demanded he reclaim the city. Ioreth said that she had heard the wounded of the first battle claim that it was overrun and impossible to retake. Nevertheless, Denethor demanded it, and Faramir, in a desperate act to please his father, went along with the command." Aragorn scoffed. "He nearly died because of it. Two poisoned arrows, he was shot with –" At this, she gasped and looked away, visions of Boromir collapsed against a tree, pinned and pierced from an onslaught of evil arrows. "Denethor went mad at the sight of his last son dead; this, Pippin relayed to me. Most likely, he would tell the account better than I. But, as I understand it, Denethor tried to burn himself and Faramir in a pyre, Faramir still being alive. Gandalf and Pippin intervened and now, Denethor is dead and Faramir lies in the wards, the poison being extracted very carefully."

"Will he live?" she asked in a whisper, now completely ignoring the Men in the chamber and hanging on every one of Aragorn's words.

"I believe he may," Aragorn soothed. "The sons of Denethor are of sturdy make and do not accept death easily. It must have been a trait inherited by their mother."

"Do not be so harsh," she reprimanded, eyes glancing over the collection of Men in their presence again. "Many disagree with Denethor and his methods, but we cannot assume that all do so. It is clear that the people have taken to you quite quickly, but we cannot give them any reason to doubt at the moment. Unity is more important than ever, and they need to look to you as their sole leader."

Aragorn nodded simply, taking her hand as it rested on the table. Her hand swiveled to meet it as she always did. His thumb traced tender circles on the back of her hand as they look out at the celebration. "They need to look at us," he corrected calmly, earning a small nod from her.

Despite the noise from the Men, Arathell had never felt such peace, embracing her and keeping her insides warm with comfort. "Do you suppose that this is how Hobbits feel in their little Hobbit holes of the Shire?" she asked suddenly, never taking her eyes away from them. An outbreak of dancing was being spurred on by the minstrels and the clapping of others. "Hobbits love the comforts of home, and here I sit, never wanting to leave."

Aragorn chuckled a little beside her before standing and looking down at her. "We have never had a formal dance, have we?" he asked her with a playful twinkle in his eye.

She returned the grin and stood as well, lifting her skirts a little and meeting his gaze stoutly. "That should be remedied at once," she demanded, pushing her chin into the air with false arrogance.

He took her hand and practically pulled her onto the marble floor. The Men, drunk now and out of their manner-driven minds, barely batted an eyelash at her and Aragorn's appearance on the floor. In fact, the clapping only escalated with excitement.

Aragorn's hand wrapped possessively around her waist, pulling her body snugly against his while she clasped his shoulder. Their hands met, completing the circle. Without another word, Aragorn had them bounding through the people, little leaps and jumps making her laugh merrily. It was probably the least formal dance that could possibly be had, and its jubilance reminded her of days in Erebor during parties.

Aragorn twirled her in every which way, the music an intoxicating pace around her. Eventually, both of his arms encased her torso and lifted her off of the ground, spinning her so fast that all she could see was a colorful blur and his face smiling up at her.

When the music stopped, she was dropped back onto the ground, both of them breathless, though he hurriedly pressed a firm kiss to her lips. The cheering crowd around them was even louder with appreciation.

They parted and gave a gentle bow and curtsy to the onlookers and made their way back to the table, smiles plastered on their faces as they plopped back down in their cushioned seats.

"Yes, I do believe that I rather like this way of living," she commented with a laugh.

Aragorn's bright smile turned dim for a moment and he looked down at his plate still full of food. "We can only hope that we may have the opportunity to live this way," he remarked, taking his goblet of wine and swirling it around lazily.

With a soft sigh, she rested her hand on top of his, steadying it. He turned his eyes to meet hers again, forlorn yet searching, waiting for reassurance, which now, after everything that had happened, she was more than ready to give him. "Aragorn –"

"My lady." Her head swiveled to meet the interruption with irritation, seeing that it was Lagordir. His hands rubbed together in anxious, tight circles. Instantly, her annoyance vanished and she did not need him to explain his distress. "Brastor –"

"Where is he?" she demanded, standing from her seat and coming around the table.

"We cannot find him," Lagordir relayed. "Lords Elladan and Elrohir have been searching all evening, as have I and there has been no sighting of him. I am terribly sorry to interrupt the celebration, but… he seemed to take to you more than he does with most. Perhaps you could…"

"I will look for him," she assured before turning back to Aragorn with a slight smile. Lagordir did not need a dismissal, already taking off to look again. "I'm sorry," Arathell told him gently. Again, his smile wasn't quite genuine, and like many times before, she considered where their happiness had gone. Moments before, they were dancing and laughing and now, images of a lost future weighed heavily upon him. She would never need her gift to see that. "We will speak more later." He nodded a little and she reached for his hand, clasping them together tightly as they had done in the very beginning. "For now, smile. Tonight, our people are safe and they are making merry thanks to your ambition and love. Celebrate with them."

"I understand, Arathell," he murmured, though his voice was less certain. He pulled her hand closer, pushing it against his forehead and then his lips.

She pulled her hand away and let it fall into his hair, his face leaning eagerly into her touch. "I will be back soon," she promised. "And then, I expect another dance with my Ranger."

"Not your King?" he retorted moodily.

"Right now, my King is rather withdrawn and not the greatest of dancing partners. I suspect that my Ranger will prove a great deal more diverting." He chuckled a little. "I love them both very much all the same," she added softly. He looked up at her with the most loving of smiles, eyes alight with the emotion enough that she did not need to hear him say it back to her. "Still, you were my Ranger first, and I must say that I have a terrible fondness for him and would very much like to see him shining tonight with the rest of Gondor."

"Find Brastor," he sighed, finally pulling away and sitting more upright in his chair. He gave her a tender smile that barely met his eyes. "He needs you."

"How kind of you to share," she teased.

"I don't do so happily," he remarked, the smile growing a tad bit wider. She smirked playfully in return before turning and weaving through the chamber, smiling at all of the Men that clapped in time to the music.

Despite the smiles she eagerly gave, she forced herself to stop being so concerned over Aragorn, focusing instead on the task that Lagordir had given.

Selfishly, Arathell had not given much thought to Brastor and his situation since she was first told of Amdir's death. She mourned for the younger brother, and her treacherous mind, still partially locked in its ways, considered the symbolism of such a death. Young Hope gone. Aragorn was Hope once, she thought. Yet he was alive. But Aragorn was also Man and Amdir was of Elf-kind. Her grandmother had said it so many times and in so many different ways, but only now could Arathell actually understand such words: the time of the Elves was over. How Legolas and Arwen decided to get on, she would not know. Glorfindel would make the journey to the Grey Havens if he hadn't done so already, as would Lindir. Her father and grandparents would likely follow and then her own brothers would leave her here in Middle Earth.

Arathell shook the thoughts away and finally exited the Great Hall, coming to stand in the feather shaped courtyard. The guards were more prevalent here than they had been at her entrance which had been towards the back. She left these guards be, debating on the off chance of them being able to see any news from Mordor or the treacherous Minas Morgul.

She walked onto the grass, eyes fighting the darkness to identify shapes. The wondrous sight of the Elves had vanished, though she did not mind. If anything, she felt even more blessed to be able to see the world without blemishes, details masked away under the impression of a great painting.

The White Tree loomed in front of her and she walked steadily closer to it to reach the stairs down to the lower levels. The moonlight radiated off of the stark branches, Sky and Earth competing brilliantly for dominance and reverence. She had seen this tree before when it was first planted.

"You did not fare as the world had hoped," she murmured to the branches which still looked haughty in their degradation. "Or perhaps you have done as I had asked: trees are meant to endure for an Age. Could it be that the Third Age of this world withers just as much as you do?" Naturally, there was no response, though she felt calmer at the thought nevertheless.

Arathell then hurried down to the lower levels, not bothering to look in any of the destroyed homes or even taverns. He would not have been in the Healing Houses – the twins and Lagordir would have already checked.

That only left one last place.

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 **There it is! Thank you for reading, and let's see if we can get to 700 reviews! That would be wonderful!**

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 **LM**


	79. Chapter 79

**Hi there, everyone! Alas, I am back again! This time my tardiness in my weekly update does actually have an excuse – a few of my friends decided to stop in for a visit for the long weekend (President's Day here in the US) so I wasn't on my computer at all!**

 **But we are only six reviews away from someone getting a one-shot! Please have PMs on and ready to go should we get there this chapter. Last chapter, there were only three reviews, but I am undeterred. I promised you all a long time ago that this whole story was going to get put up here, and I meant it.**

 **I'm sorry I didn't get around to responding to said lovely reviews too! I really hate myself for that, and I'm going to try to get better. I'm sorry in advance if it doesn't pan out that way, but know that I treasure each and every review, and they all bring a smile to my face.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and four characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

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Part Five – To Understand

Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley

"Baby I've been here before  
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor (you know)  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
And love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"

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The Pelennor Fields were still desolated. Much of the Orc corpses had been piled and burned, though their rotting flesh was quite pungent in the air, hurting her nostrils so much that her eyes began to water at the offense. Still, she pressed on, looking.

The loved ones lost had mostly been carted away, out of sight from those in the city. But there had been many losses, and to surround oneself with so much death at once was too much to ask of the warriors that had fought so hard to be alive.

Arathell wasn't sure how long she walked, only knowing that her exhaustion from the day was beginning to sweep across her senses.

At last, she saw a figure. He was seated with his shoulders hunched terribly. He was motionless.

Arathell pursed her lips and began to make her way to him. When she sidled up to him, she looked down at a beautiful boy, twisted and contorted at angles that would not be possible in the waking world. Blood was dry at his gaping knee where she could see the white protuberance of the bone. More blood decorated his face, spackles from when he had likely hewn away at oncoming opponents. Those spackles, black and putrid, were still proof of this boy's moment of life. His eyes were open, unseeing and unblinking, grey and without a hint of a sparkle. Lips were slightly open, as if he was surprised in his last moment, not mournful of the life he lost and without a single person on his mind – just shock.

The most grisly of the wounds was his neck. His throat had not been slit, but there was a long carve from where his right ear should have been all the way to his breastbone on the other side. A great pool of blood had already seeped into the dead grass under him, burning the image scarlet in her mind. Orc blades were never perfectly sharp. Tatters of flesh were distorted in the wound and discolored to a pale ash if not dipped first in a murky brown which once was scarlet red.

"How long have you looked at him like this?" she whispered, interrupting the silence. Her voice was laced with tears at the boy's death. Brastor shuddered beside her but did not answer. "This is not an image you would want burned into your thoughts," she mentioned.

"It was an image I've had since his birth," the Elf finally stated. His voice was even thicker, emotion clawing so harshly at his throat that talking sounded painful. "I was there when he was born. I had arrived home after training. I hated training. I had never wanted this life for myself, and I planned to tell my parents such a thing. I would not be a nameless warrior that fought for things that did not concern Elves.

"But then… I saw him. He was small, even then, for his age. Everyone thought there was something wrong with him because of his size. He cried often, would not eat, couldn't sleep… He was predicted to die. But I saw him. He was… He needed me. I took him in my arms…" His voice now broke and he stood and turned his back on his mauled baby brother. "And he stopped crying. He… stopped. I could feed him and I could make him sleep and I could make him laugh." She smiled a little. "A baby's laugh is more precious and more pure than anything this world could offer. It is so incredibly genuine that it breaks a piece of you when you hear it for the first time. Untainted and free and happy! And I could make him laugh!" He cleared his throat while she heard herself sniffle a little. "I went back to training, knowing that it was more than learning how to fight. It was meant to protect the ones I cared about, and there was no one I cared about more than him. I told myself that he would never get hurt and that I would save him and protect him. I was younger then with notions that seem quite impossible now.

"With the promises I made to myself, I worried all of the time that I would not be good enough to keep him safe and make him laugh. What if he…" Brastor threw his hand backwards towards the body on the ground. "I told myself that it was impossible, and then he joined the garrison, wanting to learn how to fight like me." He chuckled mirthlessly. "He always wanted to be like me… I failed him today."

Arathell hadn't heard so many words at once from him ever before, and the raw emotion that came from him was painful to listen to. She wasn't sure what the best course of action for Brastor was, but for the boy… for Amdir… she would care for him.

Leaning over, she turned his head carefully, closing the wound on his neck and hiding it from view. Nearly with a sob, she pushed his jaw up and closed his mouth. Hastily removing her cape, she draped it over the rest of his mangled form, hiding the rest of the fatal wound and his knee. She considered for a moment inviting Brastor to turn for the final moment, but decided against it. She could not make him do such a thing. Carefully, and now with a real sob, she closed Amdir's eyes, leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

When she looked back at Brastor, his shoulders were shaking, but there was still no sound coming from him. Arathell knew better than to assume talking to him would help. So instead she walked to him and took his hand boldly. He tried to break free from her grasp, but being so broken and tired prevented him from succeeding and she only held tighter.

"I'm done," he vindicated, though she saw that his face was still glossy from tears in the moonlight. "I continued to fight to save him and look out for him. There is no reason for this anymore. I am finished with war and with fighting the inevitable. Hope is dead, and I intend to die along with him."

Arathell barely nodded. "I will not force you to fight," she promised. "But I would suggest one thing – just one." Brastor began shaking his head in dismissal and finally yanked himself free, though she reached to pinch his broad jaw in her hand, twisting it down and forcing him to look at her. "His laughter may not be heard in Middle Earth again, but that does not mean that he cannot see you – cannot hear you. He laughs still in someplace unknown. I did not know him as well as I should have liked, but I will not believe that he would encourage you to forsake this world. Amdir died –" Brastor tried to break free, but she held firm. "He's gone, Brastor. I have lost people I care about, and I understand your pain. But he is gone. Do you truly want his legacy to be whatever you choose to leave the world as? If you turn your back now, his death – this poor boy's death – means nothing. Because that will be what you allow. I won't force you to fight, but please do not make that his legacy."

"You make this assumption that I care about what happens to this world. I never did. I followed him and went wherever he wished. He followed you at Helm's Deep and thus, I did so as well. You helped in saving his life that night – that was the only reason I elected to follow you. Why I abandoned him at Dunharrow, I may never know. I should have stayed."

"You leaving him there does not mean that that was what got him killed," she reminded him. "In the chaos that we found, there was no uniformity. How could you have been able to keep track of him during a battle such as this? It would have been impossible, and you know it."

"My statement stands that I do not care what happens now – to you, to Gondor, to any of you. My job to protect him is done, and therefore I am done."

"Amdir would not be done," she snapped. "He would care."

"I am not him."

"No, you only spent his entire life trying to keep him alive."

"He was my brother."

"And he was one the purest souls I have ever known."

"Who is worthy of protection if he was the purest then?"

She gestured to the city. "Who indeed?" He ground his jaw and looked away from her. "Do what you will," she stated plainly before gazing back at the blanketed body of the younger brother. "He will be buried with honor. I promise. Regardless of your decision, I will ensure that this will be done. He saved many lives, and this country is privileged to have had a warrior such as he give his life for their freedom and safety." Brastor nodded stiffly, staring at his brother with dejection and anger written on his features. His blond hair danced around his unmoving shoulders as the wind took it, being the only thing that convinced her he wasn't a statue. "You may bring him inside if you like, out of the cold."

"He would want to remain with the others," he replied, casting a glance at the neat rows of souls out of the vision of the city walls. Arathell swallowed at the sight, a pang in her heart resounding at the thought that maybe there would not be so many if they had arrived there sooner.

"We will still bury him separately," she promised. "If you don't intend to bring him, you should come inside and take your mind away from this. Go to the Healing Wards and help those who need it. That is an order," she added when he began to retort. "If you no longer wish to put your life on the line for this world, then I will not force you. But you have a skill that not many are privy to, and I will not let the dying fall out of this world if I can help it. The wards are in the sixth circle. I will tell the others that you have been located. Bring Amdir to the others when you are ready to."

Arathell left his presence after, folding her arms around herself when the bitter wind scratched at her lightly covered skin.

Seeing Amdir sprawled so heinously on the ground was something that she would not likely forget, and it burned at her soul to know that he was one of the fallen. She thought of poor Haldir, of Thorin… her mother. The world had left each of them to their derision, broken and shattered and barely able to go on. The world had failed them, and they were forced to leave, one by one.

She did not want to fail anyone else.

After her encounter with Brastor, dancing seemed impossible, so when she arrived back in the courtyard, she hastily made her way through the Great Hall, stopping when she found Aragorn in almost the same position as she had left him. "I think I will go to bed," she told him.

He nodded, looking as though he had expected the answer. "How is he?"

"I am not sure he even knows," she replied quietly.

Aragorn smiled weakly before standing and coming around the table to pull her close, pressing his lips firmly on her forehead. "Go to bed," he agreed. "It has been a long day, and I am sure that others will follow soon in your stead."

She chuckled. "I wish you could stay with me tonight. I'm not quite sure if I remember how to sleep without you next to me."

He barked out a laugh. "I'm sure that after today's activities, you won't even have the chance to think about it before you sleep. Go. I will see you in the morning."

Arathell nodded tiredly before making her way to the back of the chamber, before exiting and walking back to her room.

It was just as Aragorn had predicted: she did not even change out of her dress before falling on the bed of furs and pillows into a deep, warm sleep.

* * *

 **March 20, 3019 – Minas Tirith**

Arathell spent the next day in the healing wards, returning firstly to her patients from the day before, especially relieved to see that all of them had survived the night. Whether they would survive entirely was another matter, but she would take this small victory with a bright smile.

Brastor had also joined the ranks of the healers. She noticed that he did not speak to anyone, unless it was to ask about the pain a patient was feeling. His brow was focused, but the way his shoulders caved on themselves gave her insight to a completely different Elf. She wished she knew how to properly comfort him. Arathell mourned for the loss of Amdir, but the younger brother had not had a particularly profound meaning in her eyes, and unfortunately, all she saw was another fallen comrade. Souls were lost in war; it was what war was.

Still, she knew that a crass thought like that would not be very well appreciated in his ears, just as she knew that she would have hated anyone to say such a thing about Haldir or Thorin.

So, Arathell did the only thing she could possible think of to do: avoid him. She had spoken with him once already, and she would not make him relieve those moment on Pelennor. He had heard her position and opinions about what his next step could or should be. It was now his responsibility to decide what he actually would do.

Éowyn had not seemed in much better spirits today, even though she reported that the pain in her shield-arm was far less today due to the athelas water Aragorn had applied.

Arathell tried to talk to her – to get anything remotely like her friend out into the open, but Éowyn was very determined to hide away under her cold, unfeeling mask. Not even the notion of destroying one of the world's greatest foes had made her smile, and now Arathell was beginning to worry for her friend much, much more. All the girl had craved was recognition for accomplishing exemplary deeds in the field of battle. Or at least that was what she had told everyone. Now, in her solemn attitude, Arathell had to make guesses as to the true thoughts of Rohan's White Lady. Her friend looked hurt, and moreover, angry. Whenever someone would pass her a gratuitous thanks for her services, Éowyn would only grimace and look away, not even bothering to answer the individual who had spoken.

It made Arathell fearful to see it. It made her think for a moment that perhaps the girl did not want to even be alive and that what happened on the fields was an unfortunate mistake or accident… that her _survival_ was an _accident_! Arathell couldn't bear the thought and tried desperately not to think like that. For Arathell, it stung too much, knowing that that kind of mentality was similar to what she herself had had for many battles.

Arathell didn't know how to comfort her either, despite the striking similarity. So she avoided Éowyn for the time being as well.

Aragorn likewise, had not known what to do, but unlike her did not show awkwardness around the situation. His time was spent entirely on helping more in the wards and then assisting in the dismal recovery of lost loved ones for burial. Word was spreading that the Gondorians liked the King and Queen, thinking that it was very noble and humane of them to spend their royal time directly helping them in whatever way they could.

Mithrandir had talked to her and Aragorn a little that afternoon at their lunch, but even he was tired and seemed more occupied with what needed to be done directly with Gondor. "Tomorrow, we will make our decisions," he had resolved later at dinner and everyone had nodded with exhaustion.

That night, when she and Aragorn were to retire, they gave one another soft, tired smiles. There had been so much death compiled in their last few weeks that it was beginning to have its toll on them both. Aragorn's eyes were hooded, and she knew that she did not look much better. Despite feeling more at home and more as she should be, the glowing effect of it all was starting to wear off. Death was hard for anyone to see, and the death of her people and of people she knew was even harder.

"I didn't see much of Legolas or Gimli today," she remarked conversationally. They stood outside of their two chambers; hers was on the left, his on the right. She held his hand lightly, looking as her fingers played with his. Her voice even sounded tired.

Aragorn nodded. "Legolas spent time rebuilding some of the homes destroyed. Gimli helped provide food to others as well. It has been very chaotic."

Arathell pursed her lips. "How many hours did you spend in the fields?" she croaked.

"After I left the wards this morning, I only left the fields for food."

"That is too much time for anyone," she replied, looking up into his eyes. She could see the hurt in them, and heard him sigh in defeat, telling her with the exhalation that there was nothing that could be done to reduce that sentence. "These Men are lucky to have you at their side. I do believe that you have given them a strength that they otherwise would not have had. They succeeded in the fields today because of you."

"I suppose that will have to suffice for the time being," he agreed. She smiled and reached to his face to cup his cheek, feeling him lean heavily into her hand. The King was as strong anyone could possibly dream, and then more. His will and hope were forces all on their own to be reckoned with and she pitied the ones who dared to disagree with him in a formal setting. But away from the others and in the comfort of solely her… an anxious, timid Man came into focus. Arathell was honored to know that he trusted her with this vulnerable side of him, feeling comfortable relying on her and knowing that she would not push him away. At least he could be free in her presence and not be concerned with what others thought.

"I'm so proud of you, Aragorn," she murmured, running her thumb along the gentle slope of his cheekbone. His face was smooth, beaten at by reckless wind too many nights. Yet his skin was almost gaunt after all of horrors he had witnessed.

"I should have gotten here sooner – been here for them sooner," he argued.

She shook her head a little and gave him a tug, enveloping him in her arms. His face buried itself instantly into her neck, releasing a shuddering sigh while her fingers moved to his hair. Months ago, in Rivendell, Arathell had fallen against a pillar, broken and afraid of the future. Her soul had shattered and there was nothing but hopelessness. Arms had grabbed her then, pulling her away from the abyss and grounding her to safe and sturdy land. The arms had been strong and safe. Fingers were in her hair, tugging a little and twirling incessantly, with a heartbeat firmly against her breast, calling for her own to match its rhythm. Warm breath had skated around her ears like a lullaby, chasing away the demons and bringing the quietest of peace into her mind.

Now, she gave it back to him in Minas Tirith. She fought to mimic his actions months ago, breathing deeply and letting her faith escape and run through every pore, praying that it could reach his doubting heart somehow. Her hand stroked his hair, picking at the strands, mesmerized by the silk of it. She held him together in her arms, desperately fighting to stop him from breaking anymore. She wanted more than anything to squeeze all of his tattered pieces back together.

When Arathell pulled away, her hand moved to his eyes, blinding him to the world. She hoped that he could feel her strength through her hand. She hoped that Aragorn would understand that the control was gone, but that hope itself was not lost.

He shuddered again, taking her by the wrist and pulling it off, grey eyes meeting hers immediately. "Thank you, meleth nin," he breathed.

"It is what I am here for," she said with a playful smile. "You have to be strong for our people, but you never have to be strong for me. I'll be here when you need me, just as I know you will be there for me."

"I wish you could stay with me tonight," he commented. "I need you with me."

"I don't quite know if we have garnered that much of Gondor's approval yet," she teased. "If you have your bedroll, you may lay it out here in the hall and I will place mine beside yours. It may not be entirely well thought of, but at least it will be known that nothing truly improper occurred. And our friends will defend us, surely."

He smiled thankfully, leaning to push his lips tightly onto her forehead. "Thank the Valar you are here," he whispered to which she chuckled slightly.

They both went to retrieve their bedrolls, coming back and laying them out in the middle of the hall. Both exhausted from the day and all of its proceedings, neither gave it a thought when they relaxed onto the familiar cushion. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as the beds they had been given, yet it was much more at the same time. Without thinking, Arathell rolled to her side and pushed her back into his chest, feeling his arm drape around her middle without hesitation to pull her closer, all while their legs tangled together into a safe knot. His other arm was extended for her head to rest on, eventually wrapping around to hold onto her shoulder. She felt his lips push into the crook of her neck and smiled. Sleep would take her quickly tonight.

"I love you," he purred into her ear.

"Love you," she mumbled drowsily before finally falling asleep, safe and tucked away in his embrace.

* * *

 **That's the chapter! Let me know what you think! I'm sorry that this chapter was a bit more gloomy, but that has to happen sometimes. And I apologize for Amdir!**

 **Last note: Part Six will be starting soonish!**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	80. Chapter 80

**Hello, my loves! Sorry that it's been a while – midterms and extra hours at work have left me kinda exhausted, so I haven't been on my computer much. I also seem to have fallen down a rabbit hole with the show, The 100, and to be honest… I got some plot bunnies that are starting to take hold. Haha we will see if anything comes from those.**

 **The one-shot from last chapter is also officially up! Congratulations to** _emilia . lozano_ _.el_ **for being the 700th reviewer! Her one-shot is called** _"The Color of Life"_ **and features my favorite canon pairing: Éowyn and Faramir. I'm quite satisfied with it, so you guys should go check it out and leave a review if you feel so inclined.**

 **Thank you guys for the immense support! I love you all! BDS has 300 followers! Thank you all bunches!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and three characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Over the Love - Florence + The Machine

"Now there's green light in my eyes  
And my lover on my mind  
And I'll sing from the piano, tear my yellow dress and  
Cry and cry and cry  
Over the love of you"

* * *

 **March 21, 3019 – Minas Tirith**

The next day was a day for planning. Everyone tarried a little in the assistance of the wards and fields, but towards midday, everyone had massed into the Great Hall – the throne room.

Arathell sat beside Gimli, watching him puff on his pipe with disinterest on the stairs to the throne with him lounging in the Steward's chair. Faramir was not yet fit to take his seat amongst their group.

To her left stood Legolas and Éomer, the Elf with his arms crossed in deliberation and Éomer standing and waiting for a hint of what should be done or what he could do. The sight made her sad. He was such a good Man, and she knew that his intentions were pure. But losing his uncle and cousin and nearly losing his sister had drained him. He looked like a broken Man who did not know where to turn. She prayed to the Valar that one day he would be given some form of peace.

At a small dining table further to her left were Erkenbrand and the Prince Imrahil. She had met the Prince yesterday, deeming him completely worthy of his title. With eyes that reminded her of the youth of her race, wise but not yet sage, and a smile that was warm and full, she liked him immediately. He had lost many in this battle, but his determination was an inspiration to the Men he still had from Dol Amroth. He had spoken with her briefly about his family, and in that regard, she admired him greatly; his children and wife were everything to him.

Lagordir and Brastor also sat at the table. Everyone had collectively agreed that Gorthion would be better left to his devices, whatever they may be. Lagordir looked ready for a command, while Brastor eyed the doors. Arathell had practically dragged him to the meeting from the healing wards, and she knew that Aragorn had had a long-drawn out conversation with the broken Elf. Despite the death of a younger brother, Aragorn had told her that he knew that the Elf was in desperate need for an order, for some sort of correction and reprieve from his mind so he did not have to constantly think so much about his younger brother. Arathell hadn't quite approved with his methods, which apparently included a great deal of scolding and reminding of whom it was who was in charge. The disregard that Brastor had displayed on the ship to Minas Tirith had not escaped Aragorn's tired mind, and he evidently had made it clear to Brastor that he was to be respected at all times. Shockingly, Brastor took the reprimand in stride and appeared to even appreciate the harsh words from Gondor's King, looking more like the rigid Elf she had met in Helm's Deep but still with a cloud of sadness still hanging over him at times.

Merry and Pippin were still away in the healing wards, but she knew that they were both waiting anxiously for whatever would be asked of them. Their stout hearts had seen too much war and too much death, yet they were renowned little heroes in their own right. Pippin had saved the Steward of Gondor as well as Gandalf, the Wizard had admitted with a proud twinkle in his eye. And Merry had given aid in the death of the Witch King, earning admiration as well. Though their arms had grown stronger, the greatest difference had been in their soft eyes. Before, she could see the playful twinkle of a poorly disguised prank. Now, there was sternness and wisdom and understanding. Even though the journey to such wisdom was horrible, Arathell couldn't have been more proud of her little Halflings.

Gandalf was on her right, hands interlaced behind his back, deep in thought and staring at the tile, perhaps marveling at the fact that it was not stained with the blood of the Gondorians. She was definitely surprised.

Her Aragorn though had taken refuge away from the debate, leaving Elessar in his wake. The King faced the East, staring up at the ceiling where the light poured in from the windows. He was stoic and proud, arms crossed in defiance to the terror of Mordor; his stance was smug, even from behind.

Seeing him made her sit up taller, looking away from Aragorn and staring at her fingers scooped around her bent knees. Ilmien had surfaced, pensive and knowledgeable and as proud and arrogant as Elessar in his predatory stance. She was a Queen of heroes and of Men, never to be defeated.

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight," Mithrandir muttered from beside her and striding to the center of the room. "The Darkness is deepening."

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it," Elessar drawled.

"It's only a matter of time," the Wizard sighed. "He suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor, our Enemy is regrouping."

Gimli released a puff of smoke. "Let him stay there. Let him rot. Why should we care?"

"Because ten thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom," Gandalf bit back. "I've sent him to his death," he stated, the comment more directed towards himself than to them.

"No," the King breathed, turning around at last and relinquishing the hold on his arms. "There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" Gimli demanded.

"Draw out Sauron's armies," Elessar retorted strongly, "Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

Gimli coughed at the idea, but she stood from the stairs, eyes falling on her. "Sauron has longed for a moment such as this for an age," she drawled, stepping down from the stairs. "The thought of a challenge is too tempting for him to refuse to be sure."

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," Éomer mentioned, stepping forward beside her.

"Not for ourselves," Elessar agreed. "But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye fixed upon us." He looked back at Gandalf who looked even less certain than Boromir had all those months ago in Rivendell. "Keep him blind to all else that moves."

"A diversion," Legolas summarized.

"Certainty of death, small chance of success… what are we waiting for?" Gimli added, already sounding excited for the upcoming storm.

"Sauron will suspect a trap," Gandalf stated, coming to stand closer to Aragorn at which point she also moved to them. "He will not take the bait."

"Oh, I think he will," Elessar disagreed with a very conniving grin.

In an instant, she felt Ilmien slip away as curiosity and concern rapidly took her place. She stepped up closer to him, looking carefully. "Now, wait a moment. What does that mean?" she demanded.

Aragorn appeared in front of her, ready to soothe away her fears, though she was nowhere near able to be convinced. "Sauron must know who leads these Men – who it is who challenges him."

Arathell shook her head. "He already knows you exist. We agreed after Helm's Deep that Sauron was aware of your interference. What more are you trying to prove? As evil and horrible as Sauron is, he is just as clever. He has likely heard of your relations with the Dead within the Mountain and knows that you have taken the throne or at least are prepared to do so."

His hand fell to his hip, right on the pommel of Andúril. "Does he know that the blade that destroyed him rests at my side – in my hand?"

"And how do you intend to show that from here?" Gimli retorted.

Here, Aragorn turned his gaze to Gandalf, looking imploringly at the old Man. "The palantir," the Wizard surmised, craning his neck back in appraisal of the new information.

"No!" she snapped, hearing Legolas and Gimli chime in their objections as well. "I will not allow it."

"Arathell –"

"No! I was with you the first time that _thing_ crept into our minds. I told you that it was worse than dying, feeling what that creature does to you. I am not about to let you sacrifice your mind to make a point."

"Am I not the King of Gondor?" he fired back. "If I do not do this, who will?"

"Why must anyone do this?" Legolas reprimanded, entering the conversation and coming to stand at her side. "If we arrive at the Black Gate with all of our numbers, he will be forced to take action and meet us."

"Exactly," she agreed.

"And his bowmen on the top of the gate cannot do us harm on their own without all of Sauron's masses behind them?" Aragorn retorted. "He needs bait. He needs someone to challenge him. That is the only way. We need him to show his hand. We need him to want to establish his power. We need him to feel as though he must belittle what numbers we do have with his undoubtable superiority. This is the only way to ensure that we empty his lands as planned. Give him time to dress his soldiers and prepare for the last war of this Age."

Arathell stared at him, feeling sick at the thought. "That thing nearly tore our minds apart," she muttered. "How can you hope to conquer it now?"

"Am I not the King of Gondor?" he repeated.

"Leave," she dictated, looking around at everyone. They all shifted, unsure and looking at Aragorn uneasily. "He is not crowned King yet, and Ilmien will still have her words," she snapped to them. "You will be called back when a decision has been made." Still, they looked uncertain. "At this moment, I would wish to trade words with Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and you need not be here for that. Elessar's decision will be made known soon. Leave." Aragorn did nothing to encourage them or forbid them, but one by one, each of them left the Throne Room, Erkenbrand and Imrahil being the first and Gandalf being the last. The old Wizard gave her one last look before closing the door behind him to which she arched her eyebrow. "Be calm, Mithrandir. Elessar shall not perish today." Gandalf chuckled a little, shaking his head as the door fell closed at last. Her gaze returned to Aragorn's who had yet to remove his stare from her, waiting for an answer. "You are many things, Aragorn," she hurriedly replied, purposefully using the name Gilraen gave. "And I have faith in every aspect of your character. And you know that. But it is not Ilmien speaking to Elessar when I voice the concerns that I have."

"Arathell…"

"Yes, it is Arathell that has worries, and they are for Aragorn. I was with you when you held that stone in your hands. We shared the pain Sauron pushed into our heads. I even held you in my arms to lessen that burden, and we were still paralyzed from it." She took a step into him, resting her hands against his chest. "I cannot condone you putting yourself in that kind of pain on the off chance that Sauron's armies will be waiting for us when we arrive at the Black Gate."

"But it is not an off chance, is it?" he answered, reaching and taking one of her hands and leaning to place a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist. "I am more fortunate than any Man to have you to fret over me. But this is what I was meant to do. I was born as last in a line of forgotten Kings and it was my task to unite the people of Middle Earth to destroy Sauron. Meleth nin, there is danger in my life simply because of my name and my father's name. Your concern is appreciated, but it is unfortunately very irrelevant. Danger and pain are things that I must contend with, all for the betterment of the people we love." Arathell sighed, bowing her head and closing her eyes. She felt him push his forehead onto hers, a gesture they gave one another so often it was as reliable as the sun setting. But the strength the gesture gave her was invaluable and made her heart beat in a twang of solemn agreement.

"The thought of you hurt…" she whispered.

"This is not a hurt that cannot be repaired," he murmured back to her.

"You don't know that," she disagreed.

"Arathell," he sighed, pulling away and grabbing hold of her face, tilting it and forcing her to look at him. "Long have you told me that it was my duty to become Gondor's King. I denied the responsibility all of my life and you fought against it."

"It was different then," she argued weakly. "We were not as we are now."

"That may be true, but once Boromir died, and I assumed my responsibility, you still agreed with my decision. We have spoken more times than I can recall that I will be King and that you will be Queen. It was something you wanted for me, as well as something that I wanted for myself. We were content with the decision and we both knew that that decision came with tasks that we would not want to do. But we love Gondor," he told her. "The Men, Women, and children outside are alive because of us. They look up to us to help them and to take care of them. Now that we have fulfilled the promise to ourselves, we cannot forsake the promise that we have made to them. They are the most important. Using the palantir must be done. He needs to be threatened. Using his own weapon against him and laughing in his face is the surest way to know."

She sighed, looking down and kicking the tip of his shoe. "I suppose we cannot call this one a draw, can we?" she chuckled mirthlessly.

His hand pushed into her hair, settling on the base of her scalp and pulling back a little so that her neck arched backward. "You'll find a way to beat me," he retorted.

Arathell hummed in response. "I wish we could go back to those days," she whispered. "I wish that I could wake up and meet you in the training ring and spar without needing to look to the East."

"Those days may come again," he replied.

"May I be with you?" she asked him, looking imploringly into his eyes. "I can give you my strength and then the hurt will not be as fierce."

He smiled a little, his thumb stroking her temple. "Not this time."

She had already expected such an answer and surrendered easier now with a forced nod. Arathell maintained eye contact with him though, hardening her gaze some. "This will not be like last time; I do not care what you say. He is not being moved from a Halfling's hands to a stranger. The King of Gondor calls on him, and Sauron will do as you have said: he will show his hand and he will attempt to dominate you so as to belittle your spirit. Your presence is mighty, Aragorn, and he knows this. To bring down someone like you, he will know that he must use all force available to him." He nodded. "He will show you things and whisper words that are meant to carve at your soul. You cannot let that happen. Fight him and show him that you are not to be made a fool of."

"I will go to it after dinner," he decided and she gave him a nod of sympathy. "Meleth, you need not worry for me. I am quite capable of this," he added, still seeing her hesitation, no doubt.

"I told you the same thing after I fell in Helm's Deep from healing the others. You only told me that it was something that you could not control and because of how you love me, you are that much more inclined to fret over me and my actions," she replied. "This is the same. I will support you in this endeavor, but I will fear for you and what that monster will do to you."

He smiled and craned his neck to give her a gentle kiss. "I love you very much, Arathell."

"I'm not going to say it back just to make you think I am no longer upset about this," she muttered.

"All the same."

"Well, good," she grumbled, hoisting her chin in the air. "At least I know that I am not worrying over someone who could not care less about me."

Aragorn laughed at that, and she felt herself weakly crack a smile. "I care more for you than I do anyone else in this world, Arathell."

"Good," she snapped back. His laughing only grew in volume. "We ought to tell the others of the reckless decision that I have somehow agreed to. They are probably very concerned."

* * *

The rest of the day went by agonizingly slow for Arathell. It felt like an eternity for every inch of shadow that slowly crept its way on the floor of the healing wards.

She truly did not need to be in the wards – at least not now. The majority of those who were still living were most likely going to continue doing just that. It left only half of the beds empty, and for the size of the ward, she was relatively satisfied that they had managed to save as many as they had.

Éowyn had been given her own, secluded area for herself. She was still under supervision from the matron, so her room was not entirely quartered off, though it was prospected that she would be able to have a more permanent room soon – still attached to the wards, of course. Éowyn had not been happy about that.

Faramir, being the future Steward of Gondor, had been given his own room upon his arrival in wards, so Arathell had yet to actually meet the young Man. He was Aragorn's junior by almost half, though he was still of Númenorean descent and likely would look much younger than his true age. She wondered how much he looked like his brother…

Arathell had told Éowyn Aragorn's plans, and all she had received were hums. After some silence, Éowyn did remark however that she longed to join them on their march to the Black Gate. Not for glory or valor, but for release from the prison that life had brought around her. Her greatest fear was a cage, and despite saving countless of people, it was clear that the Rohirric lady felt more trapped than ever. The fame of her heroinism had blinded her and perhaps shocked her into submission for the titles Men threw at her.

"They are only words, Éowyn," Arathell soothed, reaching to rest her hand on the girl's. There was a faint line on her palm – the scar of Angmar.

"The Rohirrim do not dally in words, Arathell," she snapped. "We are a country of action. When confronted with praises or anything vulgar, we close. They confuse me greatly."

"They would confuse me as well," she agreed with a smile. "But maybe soon, they will not."

"Is that the gift of the Elves speaking?" Éowyn drawled.

Arathell shuffled in her chair. "I forsook my immortality," she finally answered. Éowyn's eyes didn't widen, but they rolled down from their position on the ceiling to where Arathell sat at the side of the bed. Éowyn had practically refused to be moved from her bed since being placed there, but Arathell could tell that the restlessness was beginning to take its toll. "On our way to the city, I gave it away," she explained. "I did not know what would happen once we reached the battlefield, and I wanted Aragorn to know that I would have chosen him."

"Do you regret it? The only life you have ever known, you simply threw away?"

"Nothing about it was simple," she argued. "It is what made me the being that I am. I was raised as Elrond's daughter, as an Elf, and was treated like an Elf for all of my life. Giving away three thousand years of life for an unknown is the most terrifying leaps of faith. Yet…" She smiled and looked down with a little blush. "I could not be more sure of anything. He gave me the home that I always craved. I knew that I didn't belong to the world I had grown up in. And now, those insecurities are reborn into truths. I was not meant to be Elf-kind. Perhaps I was placed here on this earth when I was so that when he came, I would be ready for him. I waited three thousand years for something I didn't know existed. So no – I do not regret it. I feel more comfortable and more like myself than I ever have before. I wish I had done it sooner; that may be the only regret."

Éowyn huffed and looked back up at the ceiling. "The time for saving and waiting is over for the White Lady," she remarked. "Perhaps she was pure and whole before… free… I only feel more caged now."

"As I said, that may change."

"We do not have the time for such a change. There is nothing here in this world for me but my own death. I would much rather have it out on a battlefield than here in a healing ward."

Arathell smirked. "There is all the time in the world." Éowyn scoffed at that. "I truly believe that this evil can be banished, mellon. I may not live to see the world reborn from the ashes, but I can promise you that you will have such a chance. Your part in this story is far from over. I do not need to be of Elf-kind to know that either. It is simply something that I just feel. I can't quite describe it, but it is wonderful. I wish I could give it to you."

"Hope?" Éowyn remarked. "I thought you did not have any and that your sister had taken your share?"

"It isn't Hope," Arathell disagreed. "It is Faith. And that is far more powerful."

"You're mad."

"Maybe," Arathell chuckled. "But at least I am happy. And that, my friend, is something that I have not felt in a very long time." Éowyn shrugged, accepting the answer, a glimmer from a jewel peeking out at the gesture. Arathell shifted a little in her seat. "Éowyn, as much as my dying wish would be for you to keep Rhetar…" Éowyn hastily pulled the jewel from her person and passed it to her. At the touch of the cool blue-green stone, Arathell heaved a sigh of relief, feeling whole again. "Thank you, my friend."

"It was never mine – I could tell. It soothed my hand a little, but it seemed as though it was… hesitant. It knows that you are its mistress."

"My grandmother had it made for me before I was even born," Arathell replied, tying the string around her neck and feeling Rhetar burn happily now against her skin.

Éowyn fell silent and before long, Arathell noticed that the girl had fallen asleep.

Arathell stood from the girl's bedside and turned, looking towards the opposite end of the ward where a closed door lay in her vision. She knew who was behind that door. A soul she felt she already knew and a spirit that was just as strong as his brother's.

Hesitantly, Arathell made her way across the room, standing at the tall doors nervously. Faramir deserved to know the fate of his brother. He deserved peace after everything he had been forced to endure. She could give him that peace. But would it hurt? Seeing a Man with such a likeness to another she used to kiss? Her heart had mended from Boromir's departure, but she was terribly afraid of what seeing Faramir would do to her.

Still, there wasn't any time to waste. Arathell – Ilmien – would not be selfish.

Raising her hand, she knocked on the door, hearing a muffled "Come in" meet her ears. She took a deep shuddering breath and pushed open the door.

It was a very large bed, fit for the Steward of Gondor. The sheets were white, and somewhat plain, but they were expertly crafted and probably very comfortable for someone with aggravated wounds.

Her eyes fell on the occupant and instantly, she felt her eyes water and her breath stolen away. It was as if she was seeing Boromir again, alive and beautiful. The same firm, but kind lips, prominent nose, wispy brown hair, and eyes – oh they reminded her so much of Boromir's eyes. But as similar as they were, she was thankful beyond measure that there were equally as many differences.

Boromir's eyes were filled with passion and exuberance, or they were hooded and withdrawn; there was never any middle ground in his gaze. It had made the mystery of him that much more enchanting to her, she supposed, looking back now on their relationship. But they had been kind eyes as well, full and ready to smile, especially at the whims of the Hobbits.

The Man before was not Boromir. Faramir's eyes were deep pools of stony grey, strong in their conviction and wise from experience. There was curiosity that flared at the sight of her, his mind no doubt trying to tease apart who she was and what her purpose was, coming here. His lips were pressed into a hard line as he focused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the bedcovers.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot recall a name for such a fair face," he finally stated. His voice was far less smoldering and rich than Boromir's had been. Boromir's voice was like liquid gold, growling and powerful. Faramir's in comparison was soft and tender, like words read aloud from the pages of a beloved book.

"I am Arathell," she stated, coming further into the room on shaky steps. Her eyes were still watering at the sight of him, but she was slowly regaining control over her emotions.

His face remained blank but she saw a flare of recognition in his eyes once he had puzzled his question out. "You are Lady Ilmien," he renamed her.

She smiled gently at the title and gestured to a rocking chair that sat beside his bed. "May I sit?"

He nodded instantly and she settled into the hard wood, grounded by the discomfort of it. How Ioreth had managed to tend to Faramir and watch over him from such a seat was unknown to her. It was incredibly uncomfortable. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, my lady?"

"Boromir," she said bluntly. His face clouded over with wariness and then deep sadness. He looked away from her and towards the window, as if he could see his brother's horse riding up to meet him. "He came to Rivendell some months ago. I assume you know this."

"I offered to go in his stead," Faramir drawled, his tender voice ripping the beloved book into shreds. The pain was so raw, she felt like crying all over again for the death of her friend. "He had had dreams – nightmares… I had as well – images of a darkening night and people crying. Isildur's Bane was found, the voice would say."

"The One Ring," she answered.

"Yes, the Ring," he sighed, looking down at the sheets. His face was so young – to her, he looked almost childlike in his depression.

"What do you know of it?" she continued, trying to focus on the topic at hand.

"It was what sent my brother to his death," Faramir replied, cocking his head to look back at her. His pain was hidden now under layers of lordship, almost demeaning and angry for Boromir's actions. "Frodo and Sam have relayed the account to me."

"You have seen Frodo and Sam?" she demanded, leaning forward in her seat.

"I met them in Ithilien," he told her tiredly; clearly this was not the first time this story had been told. "They are safe as far I am aware. However, their footsteps are haunted by the creature Gollum. They took the road to Minas Morgul and then the stairs…"

"Gandalf has said this – I never knew he learned his information from you," she mentioned.

"It is no matter now. All now know the same and there is nothing left to do but wait," he said quickly. "What of Boromir?"

Arathell sat back in her seat and looked down into her lap. "Frodo and Sam were truthful when they said that he was corrupted by the power of the Ring. There was nothing that could be done to entirely draw his gaze away from it…"

"How deeply did you know my brother?" Faramir interrupted. She looked back up at him and met his gaze coolly. There was no question in his eyes – he knew.

She sighed. There was no use in lying to him. "There was a time where we had agreed to enter a courtship upon arrival to this city. There was also a time where I considered forsaking my immortality to be with him."

"Did you love him?" he demanded.

Again, she sighed and felt her throat constrict. "Never in the way that he wanted me to," she murmured. "I thought there would be a day where I could love him, but…"

"He loved you though." Her eyes rose to meet his. "I know my brother very well, my lady. I know what kind of Woman draws his gaze and you fit his desires almost perfectly."

"What I mean to say, Faramir, is that the Ring did not kill your brother. It may have held his mind, but at the end of all things… he was the Man I met in Rivendell. He was your brother and nothing could have tainted his spirit so much to make him lose sight of that." Faramir shuddered and looked down. His shoulders began to shake at the words, but she knew it was peace that held him now. "When someone loves something as much as he loved this city – as much as he loved you –" Here, her own voice broke and she felt the tears running down her face freely. "That kind of love is so beautifully blind. It is so raw and so pure that it becomes a weakness, and the Ring unfortunately found that weakness. But he was strong, and he realized it before it the end. You would have been very proud of him in those moments."

"I should have gone," he cried.

"Boromir was right to go," she argued. "If your roles had been reversed, Boromir would have met the Ring here, and…"

"He would have failed the test," he assumed.

"Yes," she breathed. "But your brother was a good Man, and he did not have many weaknesses. If anything, I believe you can be proud to say that his only weakness was loving his people too much."

"It nearly cost the world its freedom!"

"It saved him in the end, Faramir." Carefully, she touched his forearm, squeezing it in comfort though he did nothing push her away or keep her there. "You should know that he was stronger than the Ring. And you should know that he was at peace when he departed. I could not accept it at the time and tried to save him, but he was gone." She scoffed. "I had promised to find him someone worthy of his love, and I failed him."

"Why did you not choose him? The Ring?" he snapped. The gentle voice was gone now, replaced with brotherly protection against the Woman who had broken his brother's precious heart.

"I should think it was obvious," she drawled. "My path has always been astride Aragorn's. I only realized it after I had entered into a relationship with your brother. And that is to my regret. I wished very vehemently that I loved him for a time, but…"

"You are happier now," he assumed.

"Do not think me a heartless Woman, my lord. I may never have been in love with Boromir, but I loved him very much all the same," she stated firmly. "He deserved more than what he was allowed."

Faramir sighed and looked again out the window. "We heard his horn that day… did you know?"

Arathell shook her head. "We tried to get to him –"

"I know that it was not your intention. Pippin said that you never would have left him alone." He pursed his lips and traced patterns on the bedcovers again. "Thank you, my lady, for your words. They have brought great comfort to me; however, they cannot fix the pain."

Arathell frowned softly with a nod. "Too many hurt in these times."

He looked ponderous for a moment, considering before hesitantly replying, "What of the White Lady? She has done greatness for this country, and yet I see her hurting all the same."

She arched an eyebrow at the question. "Have you met Lady Éowyn?"

"She came to my chambers only yesterday asking for me to release her from the ward," he answered. "Unfortunately, Ioreth commands everyone within these halls… aside from perhaps you and Lord Aragorn."

"Perhaps," she agreed cautiously. "I was under the impression that she has not left her bed since being placed there?"

"She was quite forceful yesterday," he retorted. "I do not know how you came to assume that the lady would be docile about her recuperation."

Arathell shuffled in the chair, again hating the feel of the wood but not wanting to be rude. "Her brother is all she has left, my lord," she finally answered. "She has lost her parents, her cousin, and her uncle only days ago. Lady Éowyn is very strong, but there are some wounds that not even steel can temper."

Faramir shook his head. "She fights to look strong. She was broken a long time ago, and she only hopes that no one will notice."

Again, Arathell's eyebrows rose a little in appraisal. What was he playing at? "You know that how?" she drawled carefully.

"I have looked in a mirror enough to know the mask, my lady," he replied.

* * *

 **And there we are! I think we will have one more chapter of Part Five, and then we will be only to Part Six! And then Part 7 is really only just an Epilogue so… we are starting to come to a close. Luckily, there is some time left.**

 **Any thoughts about this chapter? I know it was kind of filler, but trust me… you all are going to LOVE the next one. Big plans, big plans…**

 **Go check out "The Color of Life" – the one-shot that I wrote for emilia . lozano .el! Congrats again, and thank you ALL so much for sticking with me through this beast of a story.**

 **Check out the music! Sorry if it is only available to you through YouTube. :(**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	81. Chapter 81

**Hey there, everyone! Sorry for the delay again! Just know that this story IS finished, and I promise it will get to you all one way or another. Please be patient; I will try to do better.**

 **On the plus side… I think this is a chapter that you all have been anxiously awaiting for, and I am SO EXCITED to give it to you. Please be nice, but of course don't be shy to leave some constructive criticism! I hope that I haven't disappointed anyone with this.**

 **Thank you for the reviews and favorites and follows! You all are absolutely incredible for putting up with me and I appreciate it more than you all could possibly know!**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER! (kinda)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and three characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Five – To Understand

Break In - Halestorm

"You are the only one  
The only that sees me  
That trusts me and believes me  
You are the only one  
The only one that knows me  
And in the dark you show me  
It's perfectly reckless  
Damn you leave me defenseless  
So break in  
Break in"

* * *

Dinner was a solemn affair that evening. Arathell could not manage to keep still, shifting everywhere in her seat, lifting a fork only to set it down again, swishing the wine in her cup… It came to a point where Aragorn was obviously distracted and he took one of her fidgeting hands and did not release it for the rest of the meal.

Everyone else was relatively quiet too, even Pippin and Merry who had emerged fully healed from the ward only this afternoon. They had been informed of the future events and ate their food very lazily, if not purely out of boredom. Intent to keep her own thoughts, distracted, she couldn't help but feel as if she was in Rivendell again, staring at the two. The thought of her father sitting beside her and dictating to the whole Fellowship that they were meant to leave was a burning memory in her mind. Merry and Pippin had both been giggling twins then – unaffected by the horrors of the world. Now, they were sobered by what they each had witnessed. They did not speak and did not look at anyone, lacking enthusiasm as they scooped up some of their vegetables.

Mithrandir, ever the sage, had been stoic in Rivendell, knowing already of the plans and the hopeful outcome. He was as much in control as her father had been, and she knew that he had been quite comfortable with it and perhaps secured by it. Now, he was an old man, unsure and daunted by the task that was in front of them despite the shroud of white that glowed around him. He looked weary, his age weathering lines into his once smiling face and leaving behind a ghost. He did not appear as though he thought he would win this war.

Gimli, a picture of consistency was just as set as he had been in Rivendell. His arms were folded across his chest and he blew out his pipe in comfort, stern and at peace with their task. This Dwarf had become a faithful rock that she knew the others clung to.

Legolas, sitting on the other side of her, looked at the door of the hall, facing the East. He was distracted and his eyes were cloudy. One of his hands had risen to his throat, stroking the pendant held to his breast like a lifeline. "Excuse me," he murmured after some time, having not touched his food and leaving the chamber in a broken pace. She did not dare try to imagine his heartache.

Her brothers were also present, though they were quiet and ate their food at a pace that was the most normal of all of them. Elrohir was more reserved, though Elladan also did not fight to make his appearance known. They both seemed to understand the pivotal moment as being one of the last peaceful ones. It would take some days to reach the Black Gate, but the journey there would just as forbidding and depressing.

The three other Elves were present too, along with Erkenbrand and Imrahil. They all were quiet, though Gorthion seemed to have no struggle eating and Brastor looked too tired. Lagordir merely looked at his comrades – his followers – with sadness. The other two lords were solemn, though they spoke quietly to not disturb the peace.

Éomer was also present, naturally, looking like the world sat on his shoulders. He had lost nearly everyone, and the only person left was incapacitated in the healing wards. He looked so alone and so broken; it hurt to witness it. He looked like a Man who had been filled with boyish dreams, wild and free like the horses of Rohan. In his past year, his world had been shattered and his dreams abandoned. And he was the one tasked with picking up the pieces. It was not a duty she envied, yet one she empathized with all the same.

"Have the troops been preparing?" Aragorn drawled, leaning over his bowl to sip his soup. He was the only one at this moment that did not seem weary. She knew that he was, but she also knew that he would never let the others notice his fear. "We make to leave before first light."

She looked away towards one of the high windows, seeing the sun's light settling in for the night. The next time she would see such a light would be on the road to Mordor.

She wished she had had a better look.

"All who are physically able have been told the message, my lord," Imrahil replied from his table. Erkenbrand nodded in agreement. "They sharpen their swords as we speak."

Aragorn nodded, pleased with the information. "I would understand if you desired to be elsewhere at this time. Go and spend this evening however you see fit and be ready to ride in the morning." Chairs scraped against the marble floor as everyone but the Fellowship remained. Éomer looked hesitant, but she nodded to him in encouragement, knowing that he would wish to be with his sister more than anyone.

Where once there were ten, now there were only six with Legolas having already left. She reached over to stroke Pippin's cheeks. "I am very proud of you both," she told them.

"We are joining you tomorrow," Merry dictated firmly. Pippin gave a tired but definite nod. "We will be there for Frodo and Sam once this is over and it will be his kin that will be beside him and supporting him."

Everyone at the table smiled, though it didn't reach their eyes. Arathell may have believed that Frodo would succeed, but she was not entirely sure of his survival. With Sam, the chances increased, but it forced a lump to grow in her throat at the thought of losing the two, especially her dear Sam. She loved all four of the Hobbits very much, but Sam had been the Hobbit that she had taken a stronger liking to. She had seen the weight he bore at being behind Frodo, and she had empathized, knowing that Sam's heart was stouter than even Gimli's when it came to friendship and loyalty.

It was quiet for a little while longer before Merry spoke up, "I promised the Lady Éowyn that I would visit her this evening."

"And I Faramir," Pippin added with a nod, both of them standing and making gentle bows to them both before exiting the chamber.

Gimli left soon after, saying that the "poor lad" could do with some comforting. Everyone knew he meant Legolas and did not hesitate to let the Dwarf leave.

Both she and Aragorn looked to Gandalf who gave a weak smile. "If nothing else… I am happy to see that the two of you found one another," he finally told them. "We have waited long to see you this way. At the end of all things, I can rest knowing that love won somewhere in this world." Arathell smiled and glanced at Aragorn who still had not relinquished her hand. "I will leave the palantir here if you two would excuse yourselves."

Arathell shuddered. The moment she had been dreading all day had arrived at last and now there was simply no escaping it. She felt frozen to her chair, no longer fidgety and only wanting to remain rooted to the spot where the water was calm and threats were not yet spoken.

Aragorn, however, did not give her the opportunity to stay seated, pulling her up with them and then dragging her from the chamber while the cooks hurriedly swept through the obtain the remaining food.

They stood in the hallway where they had slept together, Arathell staring at him. His smile was tender, understanding and regretful. "I do not want you hurting because of me, Arathell," he whispered. "This will be over before you know it."

Arathell exhaled loudly and nodded. "Don't let him break your mind, Aragorn. Don't let his words manifest in your thoughts." His smile grew and he carefully reached for her, wrapping his arms around her middle while she clung to his shoulders. His fingers twirled her hair and she felt his heart beating strong and safe against her breast. When he pulled away, she felt the familiar hand enveloping her vision and she smiled, reaching to keep it there. "I love you," she told him. His hand pulled itself away and she met his gaze again. "When it is over, we can take one last look through the papers you have in your study. Maybe there will be something we missed."

"Alright," he agreed, leaning in and pressing his lips onto hers softly before pulling away. Arathell felt mournful, afraid of how he would appear to her once he would emerge from his encounter with the palantir. Would Sauron let him keep his mind? Would Aragorn be able to fight back at all?

Her eyes dropped to Andúril at his side. "You'll be fine," she ordered and he nodded. "I cannot stay here and wait; I would barge in, and you know I would. I will be in your study."

Arathell turned quickly and walked away, keeping her chin high, though she felt her lip trembling. "I love you, Arathell!" he yelled across the hall, but she kept moving, arriving to his study and throwing herself inside and slamming the door.

She took deep, shuddering breaths with her back pressed against the door. He would be alright. He _would_ be alright. He _had_ to be alright. She felt silly with the fear, wondering what kind of power Sauron could even have within his magic ball. Remembering the feeling well, however, she knew that he would not stint on the pain once he realized who was addressing him.

He had to be alright.

Arathell moved away from the door and towards his desk: messy as could be predicted. If they both made it back alive after Sauron was permanently destroyed, she vowed to order him to clean properly. They had not been there for a week, and already this room had been massacred and every possibly helpful paper scattered over the area.

She sighed and moved to his chair, taking a moment to organize his desk and feeling only a little relief from having such a distraction. She tried reading over the words, but nothing made sense and she ended up pushing away the papers entirely after reading the same paragraph three times and dropping her forehead onto his desk and focusing on her breath. Tears were forming in her vision as she considered the future. Arathell knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Frodo and Sam would succeed. Sauron would perish and the world could be reborn. It would happen.

But what about her? What about Aragorn? Would they be able to see the fruit of their endeavor? Would she be able to wake everyday beside him and laugh with him and have his children – the boy she saw in her dream and in her grandmother's Mirror? Would they have a future? It was an unknown.

The minutes were still ticking by, and with every second of him not appearing, she wanted to scream.

Arathell stood up and began pacing the study, and when he still did not appear, she took the papers she had organized and hurled them at the ground, enjoying the splashing crash of all of them colliding with the stone. She kicked at them and noticed that some ripped.

Where was he?!

She threw his inkwell on the ground, hearing it shatter and an explosion of black staining some of the stone.

Where was he?!

Arathell screamed, reaching for her hair and tugging it at the scalp, anxious and afraid. She walked to the door of his study five times, each time intended to march to the Great Hall and demand an explanation. Each time she stopped, but only ever barely.

On her sixth attempt, the door finally swung open and Aragorn stood there, tears in his eyes and looking pale. They stared at one another for a moment, connecting one another's fears and knowing the other's pain. She saw their unknown future in his eyes and saw him questioning his survival… _her_ survival.

Then the moment snapped and he marched more into the study, slamming the door shut behind him and taking her in his arms and pushing an angry, wild kiss to her lips. Groaning at the touch and feeling grounded in the roughness of his beard, her arms entangled themselves around his neck, hands trespassing into his hair and holding him as close to her as she could. His teeth bit her lip, piercing the skin and forcing her passion to the surface while his hands dominated her entire back, and tangling her hair into painful knots.

Another door hit her back with a thud and she gasped, but did not push him away. His body cocooned her own against the other door, and she moaned from the pressure he exerted against her. His arousal was evident and the growl he forced into her mouth evoked just as possessive of a growl from her as well. Aragorn's hand fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, before pushing through, his other hand holding onto her waist tightly and preventing her from falling backwards into the room.

The smell of athelas was everywhere and when they pulled away, she briefly looked at her new surroundings. There was a bed even greater than the size of hers behind her, done up in blacks and whites, grey and white furs decorating it while the intricate iron bedframe looked tantalizing and inviting.

Her brown eyes swiveled to meet his. He didn't even need to say the words; she already felt her head bouncing up and down with fierce agreement.

His lips mashed to hers again and he forced her further into the room. The backs of her legs hit his bed and she fell back instantly, his body crowding hers and his grey eyes pouring lust and need into her. "I need you, Aragorn," she moaned, tears popping into her eyes again. At the sight of her tears, his face softened a little and he reached to wipe away the tears. "I need you," she whispered again.

His kiss became gentle as they moved further back on the bed, him trailing after her and keeping their lips connected. His hands traced memorized patterns of her waist before settling in more. He pulled away, eyes giving her one last warning. "I am not acting only on lust, Arathell," he told her. "I love you, and I need you. By the Valar, how I need you with me. We came all this way and found our home at last, only for it to be potentially ripped away again. I refused to be with you in the tent and on the ship, but I would have you here and now at least this once in our home if you'll let me."

"Love me, Aragorn," she replied without any resistance. "And let me love you back."

She sealed her lips against his and did not look back, feeling her body respond and excite at every touch and kiss. Clothes were yanked free from skin, hands grabbing and pulling without any hesitation, as if they had been with each other too many times to count. Eyes roamed anxiously, desperately trying to tie a memory into every act and moan. Nothing could be forgotten. Pleasure was everywhere, burning her from the inside out and when they were finally joined, her soul screamed with relief, holding its other half and reveling in the rawness of it.

"Forever," she cried into his lips, pushing her hips hard into his, feeling complete and whole.

"Always," he groaned.

* * *

In the afterglow, she rested her head on his bare chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. His fingers made sweet dances on her naked shoulder, his calluses making her shiver every now and then. Arathell was peacefully relaxed, slightly sleepy, but pleasantly alert.

She could not have imaged a better way to spend their last private night together. She did not even care if words were spread about them later. Though truthfully, she rather doubted the possibility. Everyone in Gondor now knew that Arathell was Aragorn's Queen, and everyone knew how deeply they loved one another. Something told her that they would understand that they would want to impart their love to each other in the fullest way possible before the end. Likely, this was how they were spending their last evening with their lovers as well.

"Arathell?" he murmured.

"Hmm?" she replied.

"I… did not hurt you… did I?" he worded carefully.

She grinned and turned her face into his chest, inhaling the athelas now mixed with his sweat. "My love, I could not be further from hurt than I am now," she answered truthfully, tilting her head up and looking at him. "The only way I could feel even better was if we perhaps repeated our love-making."

At this, he blushed and looked away, though she saw the arrogance in his smile. She spun in his arms more, lying now on her stomach beside him and resting on her elbows. He glanced back at her, letting his hand fall from her shoulder as she had moved and was now barely stroking her waist up towards her ribcage, sending her into a fit of shivers. "You are too straight-forward sometimes," he chuckled.

"And you are too romantic; how else could we get along so well?" she teased.

"I merely worried," he reasoned.

Arathell laughed loudly at the words. "No, you were only curious to see how you compare," she disputed. Aragorn blushed even more.

"And here may be where you reclaim the draw," he remarked, referring their argument over his decision about the palantir. He pulled his hand away from her and dropped it over his eyes in embarrassment.

"No, my love, it will most certainly be where I reclaim the draw," she continued, hearing him groan. "Lindir was nothing more than a comfort to me, Aragorn," she soothed, reaching for his hand and pulling it away from his face. "We gave one another the relief that we were each looking for and needing at the time. Neither of us had anyone but the other. It was not special and it was not entirely… pleasurable. He fulfilled a need – nothing more." She smirked a little at the thought of Lindir's clumsy hands and uninformed attempts to reciprocate any form of pleasure. "Lindir wasn't quite strong enough to handle me in his bed."

Instead of feeling jealously over the account of her past lover, he looked curiously at her. "And I…?"

Again, she laughed and leaned up to kiss him softly, feeling his hand easily drop to her hair and neck. When she pulled away, she continued to smile. "Only the King of Gondor would fret over how his performance is rated in the bedroom."

"Arathell…" he groaned again.

"Alright, I apologize," she surrendered. "I merely find it amusing. Aragorn, truthfully, I have never felt so treasured in all of my years," she said gently, and she felt him relax beside her. "You have done well since the beginning of our relationship in reminding me of my worth and proving to me that you love me, but… just now… It was more than proof. I could feel your love everywhere and your desire to make me happy. I did not think that it could be that powerful. What we did… I cannot put into words just how perfect it was, or adequately how loved I feel. It felt like coming home. It felt as though our physical forms were even made for one another and that this was not even the first time we did this together. You knew me better and made me more alive than Lindir ever did, Aragorn."

He grinned a little, fingers touching her ears and jawline tantalizingly that she almost climbed on top of him for more, but his solemn words interrupted her, "You were right about the palantir." He did not look into her eyes, but he no doubt felt her stiffen. "I do not regret confronting him, but he was much stronger than I anticipated."

She shuffled uncomfortably. "Will he take the bait?"

"Without question," he replied quickly. "He burned when Andúril's flame flashed in his Eye. He recognizes his old foe quite well. Evidently, it haunts his dreams enough."

"Then what?" she demanded. "What did he say to you?"

Now Aragorn squirmed. "He showed me your death," he answered bluntly. She inhaled at the words, but Arathell truly did not feel very much surprise. It was something that they both had predicted could happen, though clearly he did not prepare as much for the possibility as he should have. "It was as though Mordor was here at the time I spoke with him… I could hear you calling, begging for me to turn and help with the battle around me, but I could not. Sauron kept me frozen there in the chamber while you all tried to rouse me. Sauron laughed and the spell broke and I finally turned, and I saw you. You had landed on your face… you had been obviously running to me… there were so many arrows and… so much blood. I dropped the palantir and ran for you, but as soon as I released the palantir, you disappeared before my eyes. I broke…"

Her fingers stretched for his face, thumb sweeping across his eyebrows and forehead to push away the fear from his mind. "I know how you felt," she told him. "It was the same for me when you fell from the cliff."

"Then I am sorry for the pain you were left with; it lasted much longer than mine. And I knew somewhere in my thoughts that it was never real to begin with. You truly believed…"

She shook her head. "I do not want to relive that moment, Aragorn. What's done is done, and you are alive, and that is all that matters to me. I forgive you, but do not do it again." She laughed just a little at her poor joke.

He didn't smile at all. "I could not help but think of our chances for tomorrow… today now I suppose. He will take the bait, but what if it does not matter? What if we are too late and we only speed closer to our time of death? What if I am tearing these Men away from their families for nothing? They will have died away from their wives and children because of a prayer that I have conceived. If I am wrong then they all will die. The Hobbits, Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli… you… we all will die."

"Hush," she harshly refuted. "Aragorn, when we began this journey, you and I often spoke of my lack of hope. I always told you that my purpose in the Fellowship was to merely deny death for as long as possible and protect the world with all within me, even if that meant me dying in the process. I cared for Boromir and wished him all of the joy in the world, but I gave up whatever hope I had for his soul. He showed me his darkened mind and I fled. And though he perished, he died the Man I remembered, free and true to himself. I lost hope for our relationship and you persisted, and Legolas had to beat into my head that you and I were more than what I had thought. I had no hope when you fell from that cliff and you came back to me all the same. I did not have hope for the battle of Helm's Deep, and we both survived the night and won. I had no hope for Minas Tirith, and then my father and brothers came with Andúril waiting for you. I had no hope for the Paths of the Dead, and they joined us and ended up saving a city I did not dare to hope could be saved.

"My love, I gave up hope and did not have it for any part of this journey and yet here, against all odds, we rest in our home with the support of thousands. They trust in you. And maybe that does not mean much since we have not been rulers for long, but know that I trust in you. You have taken these grotesque situations I have stated and told me every time that all would be well, that we will survive and that we will be happy. And you were right.

"And now, at the end of all things, with our chances of survival resting on a prayer, like you say… I could not have more faith that tomorrow and the day after will be alright. It is not hope… it is not something that rests on chance. I have faith. I know. I know with everything in my being that, if nothing else, Gondor will survive. They will live to see tomorrow and these people will one day have a reason to smile. If I die, then so be it. If you die, then rest knowing that I will not be long behind you. In any result, Aragorn… this world will continue and it will be safe. And that will be because of you and Frodo. I know that Frodo is there in Mordor now, steadily making his way to Orodruin with Sam helping him all the way. They will both make it there and destroy the Ring because of you."

"Arathell…"

"No. No, all of the times where you were strong for me, and all of the times you told me that it would be alright, trust in me now. I wish I had believed you all of the times you said it to me, but I beg of you to listen and hear me now. Let me give you the strength you have been endlessly giving me. Let me make you believe what I know and hope for what I have faith in."

His eyes were watering and he looked away from her again, but she turned his head for him to look at her again. Carefully, she leaned up again, placing a light kiss on his lips, their eyes remaining open. Arathell kissed him again just a little harder and felt him respond ever-so-slightly. Her next kiss was more forceful, and his hand came up to trap her lips onto his, his other hand sneaking under her waist and pulling her so she lied on top of him.

"That was one of the most incredible things I have ever heard, Arathell," he said, pulling away a little.

"You've saved me since the day I met you. I think now I should be the one to save you from yourself."

"I love you, Arathell."

"I know," she replied. "And I love you."

He grinned, and she felt his hands massaging her back again. "I know."

She chuckled a little. "Can we love a little more, or did you truly mean only once?"

"I believe I included the phrase, 'at least.'"

"Oh, thank the Valar."

* * *

 **March 22, 3019 – Royal Chambers of Minas Tirith**

They had both known that they needed sleep that night. Neither wanted to give in to the demand, but it no longer became an option. They had faced one another, foreheads pressed tight and hands clasped between their warm bodies. Sleep had taken them.

When her brown eyes struggled to open, she realized that they had not moved much. His grey eyes were already open and waiting, soft love emanating from the soothed storm. She smiled a little and untangled their legs, stretching comfortably. "I remember a time when waking you was a challenge unsought by any Man," he remarked. His voice was thick with sleep and with his hair perfectly tousled thanks to her… passion… she nearly shivered.

"I never did figure out how you got a scar on the back of your hand from waking me…" she sighed.

"I thought it was obvious," he answered, knuckles tenderly swiping at the expanse of her sharp cheek. She grinned at the touch, leaning into it and burrowing more into her settlement in the covers. "It will be dawn soon…"

Her head swiveled to his window, whimpering before she could stop herself at the navy blue tint blanketing the sky. "I know what I said last night, but I do not know if I am truly ready for this moment," she told her tersely.

"No one could be, meleth nin," he purred gently. Her eyes were still set on the window, wondering if by staring, the sun would retreat the way it came and hide. Aragorn sighed and she was soon drawn up into his arms and his lips pressed into her hair. "Thank you for this night." It was quiet and almost bashful with the way that he said it and it drew her enough from the window to look back at him, scrunching her nose.

"Do not thank me for something like that," she hurriedly stated. "It was not a service; it was what we both needed and wanted, Aragorn." He readjusted her in his arms, but she held firm. "I love you, and I have wanted to show you the depths of that love since I saw you after you had fallen from the cliff. I once worried over not being pure enough to be with you, but after seeing what we have… I realize that purity does not matter, and these people will understand our plight well enough. Feelings and emotions can be discussed but they are not truly exemplified until they are acted upon and shown… This is not something that you give thanks about."

The corner of his lips upturned a little in a smirk as he appraised her. "Then thank you for every night I have been lucky enough to be beside you," he replied.

She groaned and pushed herself off of him with an eye roll, falling out of his bed and onto her feet. Arathell cast a glance back at him, seeing him observe her nakedness, though she felt no shame. "One day, your romantic little words are going to make me ill." Arathell bent to retrieve her dress, having been pulled from her and then thrown quite forcefully onto the floor if she recalled correctly. She stepped into the dress, feeling the crumples and sighing, knowing that there would be no sure way of hiding how she spent her night. "Help me with tying these." His fingers sent little chills down her spine with each tightened knot, redoing the work that he had so expertly undone the night before. Once finished, she felt his lips on the side of her neck, pressing lovingly while his arms wrapped around her middle. "Have you ever…" she began, pulling herself away and bending again to retrieve his trousers.

Aragorn's eyebrow arched, not needing clarification while accepting the pants and pulling them back on, leaving his chest bare for the moment. "Yes." Arathell took a shuddering breath and looked down, trying her best not to be jealous and knowing perfectly well that Aragorn had been far too generous with her when she told him of Lindir. "I was younger, and I was in Rohan, riding with Thengel."

"I was with you for that!" she exclaimed.

"Thengel liked you from the beginning, Arathell, and you were not exactly forbidding on the occasional flirtation he would deliver," he reminded, and she had to concede to the point. Thengel had been handsome in his youth yet sturdy and firm. When he had spoken with her, she knew that she had had an effect on him, and she never pushed him away because she had found him equally interesting at the time.

"Please tell me that it was not his wife –"

"Arathell!" he snapped, marching up to her and grabbing her upper arms. Her mouth closed as she waited. "It was a young lady from the stables…" he trailed off. "I was not her first, and she was comforting. She was smart enough to know that she was not the Woman of my eye, but she knew well enough that she could do something. I was jealous and irrational and I gave in. I regret it."

Arathell nodded and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and continued nodding. She looked at him again and gave him a small smile. "We both have made our mistakes," she agreed. "But I think that having such… activities… maybe it gave our relationship an elevated stage to perform on?"

"You're saying that because we have lain with others we are more skilled in the area of love-making?" he rephrased.

"What I did with Lindir was not that… but yes," she agreed. "I suppose so. You certainly knew what you were doing…"

He began to retort when there was a knock on the door. Arathell's eyes snapped back to the window, cursing herself for becoming distracted and seeing that the navy blue was steadily turning lighter with the approaching sun. They did not have much time. But at least they had had their last moment before getting ready to forget about the world outside. In his bed, she was free. Talking with him about something other than the war was always what she loved best, but such discussions were few and far between. Since forsaking her immortality, Arathell had not had much time to be with Aragorn as his lover, and before then she couldn't pinpoint a conversation they had had that did not revolve around the war in some way. Even when Boromir was alive, they had talked often about the Ring and its effects on each of them.

He walked to the door, throwing on his shirt without tying the front before opening the door. It was Legolas, and he nodded to Aragorn and then looked further into the room, smiling when he saw her. "I hope you know that everyone knows about this. The maid last evening evidently has excellent hearing and equally fascinating is the fact that one could have been deaf and would have known the events just fine."

"Are they upset?" Arathell drawled.

Legolas smiled but shook his head. "They understand." Both she and Aragorn nodded with finality, Arathell having expected such a reaction all along. "But, it time to come away now, Arathell and prepare yourself. The Guards of the Citadel intend to dress their King and are too fearful to potentially interrupt anything, hence my nonexistent volunteering."

"Nonexistent?" Arathell repeated. A look to Aragorn showed that he was blushing quite fully but still looked smug in his stance.

"I did not consent to the entire Guard's plan of sending me here, but here I am." They shared a small smile, each finding comfort in the tiny glimmer of peace. After another moment of silence, Legolas' face fell, and the moment was over. "It is time to leave," he announced, not bothering with extra flowery words or other jokes. There wouldn't be a way to sweeten words of war, and they all knew it.

"I will go get dressed," she surrendered, glancing at Aragorn solemnly. The step she would take out of his room would most likely be her last time there. The haven they had created in the night was now the nest they had to both flee. Neither of them wanted it, but both knew that there was nothing else that could be done. Arathell didn't speak when she made that step, maintaining eye contact with him and feeling a little piece of her heart shatter once the cool temperature of the hallway tickled her bones. She took a shuddering breath, fighting back the tears clogging her throat while Aragorn nodded in encouragement. She couldn't bear to stay another moment and walked briskly to her chambers, slamming the doors shut behind her and gripping the handles tight behind her back.

"You do not fear death," she instructed herself. "You have known it would come for you all of your life. You will not fear it now," she demanded, forcing herself to walk to her wardrobe before noticing that her armor had already been prepared and laid out on the bed.

* * *

 **So… what do we think of this chapter? I know that a lot of people have been waiting for the moment that they share their love in a more physical capacity, so I hope that I didn't disappoint! I am not quite comfortable with writing full on smut, and I just didn't think that it would be entirely appropriate for them either. Their love isn't based on the physical, rather on the mental and emotional. But please let me know what you think! Likewise, I hope that you all will be alright with the fact that Aragorn isn't inexperienced in this area. Even though he is from a royal line, he is still a Man - something that I have tried to demonstrate throughout these later Parts of the story. Everyone makes mistakes in their youth in the heat of a moment. Goodness, can you tell that I am anxious about your guys' reactions for this scene/chapter? Please leave your thoughts!**

 **Next chapter, we go into Part Six, I think! Wow, we have come such a long way, and it is crazy to think that we are coming up on the end. I don't have any problem telling you that this story will be more like Tolkien's works than the movies – not ending as soon as the Ring is destroyed. There will be some extra bits that will need to be sorted out before I am okay with ending it.**

 **Check out the music! I have been planning to use this song for this chapter since the beginning, so I'd love for you to give it a listen!**

 **Love you all lots! And please leave me a review! 3**

 **LM**


	82. Chapter 82

**Hi, my lovelies! Thanks so much for the reviews and the most lovely words of support for last chapter's scene! I was worried about it, but I haven't heard any negative things yet, so I'll call this one a success. I think that I have replied to you all for the last two chapters as well. If I haven't, I truly apologize, and you can rant at me through review. :D**

 **So, though none of you have asked (which is fine), we are kinda tying off another plot bunny here… maybe two, depending on how you look at it. I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

 **And we are finally to Part Six… please revisit the main song that runs the backbone of this story: Life is Beautiful by Vega 4. Remember, there are Six Parts and an Epilogue, so… oh man. Still gotta get through this part though, so we have a little bit more time together.**

 **DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and three characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Six – There are Miracles

Sirens - Pearl Jam

"It's a fragile thing, this life we lead,  
If I think too much, I can't get over  
When by the grace, by which we live  
Our lives with death over our shoulders  
Want you to know, that should I go,  
I always loved you, held you high above too  
I studied your face, the fear goes away"

* * *

" _You do not fear death," she instructed herself. "You have known it would come for you all of your life. You will not fear it now," she demanded, forcing herself to walk to her wardrobe before noticing that her armor had already been prepared and laid out on the bed._

It was more ornate and protective than the other armor that she ordinarily wore, and a part of her desperately wanted her old armor back, thinking that she would feel safe with her old friend embracing her. But it was not Arathell who would go to war – it was Ilmien. And Ilmien wore armor made from the finest blacksmiths in Gondor and to deny their craftsmanship would be almost criminal and definitely reckless.

Several handmaidens joined her after another moment, helping her piece the cold metal onto her body. Each of them gave her tender smiles, comforting but never quite confident. There were tears in each of their eyes when they tugged the final leather band around her shoulder braces into position. Arathell reached and stopped one of the young girls, catching her clear eyes. "I may not return to this city," she told them. "But I can promise you someone will. You will see."

None of the smiles met their eyes, and they each gave deep bows, mournful and reverent of Arathell in a way that almost made her feel uncomfortable. When they left, Arathell was left to stare at herself in mirror, alone again. She had already braided her long hair and twisted it out of her way for the maids to not touch. She may have forsaken her immortality, but her hair would always remain a treasure to her.

She moved to her bedside table, seeing the circlet she had worn throughout their journey sitting on its pillow and waiting. Upon their returning night to Minas Tirith, she had worn a circlet of old, embodying the power of a queen and being the figure that they needed to see. Now, she would be Ilmien. This circlet now would be hers and would be praised by children if she had anything to say about it. It was time to truly be Ilmien and leave the Queens of Old in the past.

The weight of it was still light, the work of the Elves shining miraculously. But she felt calm with it on, safe and protected almost. With Rhetar around her neck and the circlet, she felt like Arathell _and_ she felt like Ilmien. She smirked a little – maybe the two were not so different like she had imagined.

Beside the now empty pillow of her unrumpled bed was an envelope. There were no words written, and there didn't need to be. She had carried it far, but she had always been afraid to open it and see its contents.

Hesitantly now, she reached for it, the paper rough under her fingers and reminding her of Rivendell's extensive library. How many hours had she spent there, pouring over the books and making irreversible folds and creases in the pages? For so long, she could not think of a place she could call home, but she knew that the library would always hold one of the dearest places in her heart.

Carefully, she picked up the envelope and flipped it over, seeing a red wax seal with the Evenstar smudged in. Looking at it, the wax so plain and the design smudged, Arathell could almost pretend that the letter did not come from someone as high and mighty as Arwen Undómiel. Yet here it was.

Arathell took a steadying breath and forced herself to brutally rip the seal apart, exposing the fine script of her sister's handwriting in the pages hidden inside.

She withdrew the pages haltingly, feeling her brown eyes close after a moment. When the envelope finally fell away, her eyes opened again, and she dropped the envelope on the floor, only the letter remaining.

Unfolding them carefully, she found the beginning. Oh, by the Valar, there would never be enough deep breaths one could take to alleviate this fear.

 _Do you remember the day that Mother sailed away? Forgive the question; I'm confident you do. We were younger and perhaps more naïve then. I can remember that you did not understand why she would leave us here, her beloved children. I can remember your fear that she never knew how much you loved her. Most importantly, I can remember how you and I decided to band together and show our most gallant brothers that their sisters were not to be overlooked._

 _It seems so far away now. Sometimes I wonder if it was a dream, because reality is so different._

 _I remember when I met young Aragorn in the Woods of Imladris. He was so surprised that another daughter of Elrond even existed. He called out the name Lúthien to me, and I was to learn but a moment later that he mistook me for someone else: you. He said that it was an accident – such an exclamation. He was not ready for you to know him and his feelings for you, and I promised to keep his secret. I do hope that I am not betraying his trust by telling you now. Hopefully, you already know._

 _I remember speaking with you after my discussion with him. I merely wanted to know your opinion of him, and it hurt me to know that you could not see him at all while he longed for you so ardently. My words were crass, and I daresay unforgiveable. I cannot think that an apology through words of a letter would do much good at conveying my sorrow for how I spoke that afternoon._

 _It does not matter now anyway. The past cannot be rewritten._

 _What I cannot seem to remember, and I pray to the Valar that you do, is when we were ever truly sisters? Did we ever see one another the way our brothers and father saw us? Were we ever two sides of the same coin? With the way our dear mother named us, it would seem that this was her intention, yet here we are, and I feel as though I write to a stranger. Perhaps you read this wondering the same._

 _Admittedly, as I sit and write to you, I cannot think of how you would respond. I do not even know if you will ever read my words or not._

 _I cannot think of how we became so estranged from one another. I feel as though I do not know you at all, or that you know me. The sadness this brings to my heart is indescribable. And I do not think that Legolas will ever be the balm that he tries so hard to be. I apologize on his behalf for all of the times he fought for me and hurt you. I love him very much, but he protects more fiercely than Father, I daresay. I never meant to be the cause of your hurt._

 _Despite not knowing one another, I do hope that one day we will. I hope that I will be able to tell you in the proper way how much I love you, Arathell. Despite whatever you think of me and what has happened between us… know that I do love you. I do not say it because you are my sister and I am bound to do so. And I likewise do not say it because love comes easily to me; I may not know much of you, but I do know this is what you would think of these words._

 _I say it because it is true. I suppose I could include the fanciful words and poetic prose to prove it to you, though I do not think it would do very well at convincing you. So, I will be blunt and try to emulate your personality in the best way I am able: I do love you, Arathell. There will truly be nothing that you will say or do that will make me stop. I do not know how or why I love you, but I do. You make it difficult sometimes, but other times, I cannot see how anyone could not love someone like you. Aragorn could not have found a better companion, and I think also that you could not have asked for someone greater to love you in the way that I see he does._

 _The future seems both far and close to me, yet still I cannot predict how it will unfold. I have hope that we will meet again on better terms. And I hope that we can come to some understanding and learn more about one another. But until that day comes, where we can affectionately call one another 'Sister,' just remember this moment. Please, Arathell. Please remember that I love you and that I would give you all of the joy in the world if I could. Please remember that, if nothing else._

Arwen had not signed the page, and she hadn't needed to.

Arathell sighed and placed the pages back on the small table, leaving the envelope sitting empty on the floor. For most of her life, Arathell had acknowledged the differences she and her sister had had. Where one was light and full of hope, the other was dark and pessimistic, lost and adrift in a cold world. Arwen's smile was radiant and warm, and her heart full of compassion and love. Arathell could only cleave herself apart for the people she loved, swearing loyalty and feeling torn and broken in the process.

They were incredibly different people, and for the longest of times, Arathell had been convinced that she and her sister were indeed complete opposites. It was as Arwen had described: perhaps they were meant to be two sides of the same coin. But Arathell had only thought that they were different coins altogether. Clearly, she was not the only one who thought such a thing.

Aragorn had asked her once if she loved Arwen.

She had said she didn't.

And now, Arwen was doing her best to show the love that had been absent from Arathell. The language in the letter was awkward, and it hurt Arathell more than she thought it would. They did not know one another. And now, it was almost too late to ever know one another.

She sighed again, looking at her Western wall and wishing she could catch a glimpse out of it, where her sister resided all of those miles away. Perhaps her sister's spirit would ride the currents of the wind today. Arathell had changed a great deal on this venture, regardless of what Aragorn thought. She could feel it in her bones. She was different.

"You have my love. And you have my forgiveness," she murmured at the stone wall, wishing that the words would find their way to her sister in some capacity.

Arathell knew that she had already taken too much time getting ready, and so she left the pages on the table, strapping Ristor to her belt and sliding Finelleth onto her back.

As she walked down to the stables for Faerdhinen, there was but one thought on her mind: she wanted to live for the tomorrow where Arwen would be her sister again. She wanted to know the woman who had confessed love for her and she wanted to see Arwen as Arwen was meant to be seen, free from jealousy.

Arathell had made her peace with her sister the moment her father had given her the letter. The time for fighting within her family was finished. She had forgiven Arwen, and through the words from the letter, she knew that Arwen had forgiven Arathell. Perhaps she had been too fearful to say as much, but Arathell could see the forgiveness hidden between the swirls and lines of her sister's handwriting. They were free from the shackles they had bound themselves in.

Now, all they had to do was survive to meet again as friends and become the family they were meant to be. Was that even possible?

Aragorn was in the stable, barely mounting Brego when she saw him. Faerdhinen was in the stable beside him, and she climbed atop Arathell mare easily, still staring at Aragorn. "You thought Arwen was me," she blurted. He met her gaze for confusion for a moment. "You called her Lúthien… thinking she was me."

Realization dawned and he looked down at his hands on the reins, murmuring to Brego to walk out of the stable, Faerdhinen following already without being told. "She promised not to say anything." Brego walked slower for Faerdhinen to come beside him.

"I'm glad she did," Arathell answered quietly. "I never knew you thought me that fair."

"It was an accident. As soon as she turned, I knew it was not you, even from the distance she appeared to me at," he continued.

"Why did you refrain from ever telling me sooner?"

"Gandalf and Elrond did not think it was wise."

Arathell smiled briefly. "I read her letter."

"I figured as much." They shared a gentle look, and he looked as though he already knew what the letter said, and even how Arathell felt about it. "You'll see her again, meleth nin," he promised.

"Last night you were not sure about anything."

"That was before my Arathell shared her faith with me."

She grinned wider then, feeling proud of her accomplishment. They reached the other stables where everyone was already assembled. The horses within the lords' court with neighing with anxiousness, only Éomer and Erkenbrand's stallions remaining the proud stoic beasts with all of the proper upbringing, the Gondorian horses trying their hardest to mimic the Rohirric ones, but failing. Shadowfax looked above all of them combined, eyes already set towards the fields and Mordor.

She saw her company of Elves, noticing that Brastor sat upon his stallion rigidly, with only his eyes moving restlessly. He met her gaze the second he felt it, and Arathell gave him a tender smile, knowing that Amdir would have been proud. He nodded sturdily in respect but refused to truly acknowledge the fact that he was there.

They began their trek down through the lower levels. Their company was silent as they moved. The faces of the Women and children were rigid and lost. Arathell knew that they mourned for the loved one that would not return, but their faces were as hard as statues. So many times they had watched their husbands, sons, brothers, fathers leave – this war had hardened them, removed that ounce of their humanity.

In this instance, Arathell was almost grateful for such a deficiency.

Vacating the city at last, the Men were still as silent as the grave, eyes fixed straight ahead at Mordor, never wavering to the run-down fields of their people.

This was the last march, the last defiance. And unfortunately for all of them, this march would be one of the longest in their lives.

* * *

 **March 24, 3019 – One day from the Black Gate**

The two days they had been on the road had not lifted anyone's spirits. If anything, everyone seemed more melancholy, despite the occurrence of the occasional whisper.

But this night was different. The wind was still and the moon and stars were shrouded by Sauron's hatred. The firelight was kept dim, on account of potentially being spotted. They angled blankets to hide the light, the smoke taking refuge in everyone's eyes much to their displeasure.

The two little Hobbits didn't speak either, and again, it broke her heart more than practically everything else. There were no jokes, no secret smiles. Pippin didn't even venture to indulge any form of curiosity that he was likely to no longer have.

Legolas and Gimli were rarely seen in the past days, veering far away from the traveling company for solace during times of respite. Despite Gimli never knowing a romantic love, he seemed to be the only one capable of comforting Legolas and his situation with Arwen.

Her brothers had taken a different approach. They crowded her, fighting for one last effort to reconnect with her. The three of them had set aside their differences and reconciled to the best of their ability when she left Rivendell. Now, it was a hasty attempt to know everything there was to know about her before they perished. For Arathell, it was almost too much; but she refused to push them away, knowing that they blamed themselves for their relationship with her. They were just trying to fix it.

The other Elves were separate from one another. Gorthion spent all of his time alone, and no one seemed particularly troubled by his reclusive state. Lagordir lingered mostly with the Rohirrim; Arathell was right about his friendship with the lords of Rohan after all. Brastor was neither alone or with anyone. He was surrounded by the Gondorians but she noticed that he rarely conversed with anyone. The only answer Arathell could think of was that he was trying to remind himself of why he was with them.

Erkenbrand and Imrahil had become fast friends, whether due to lack of time or true fondness, Arathell couldn't be sure, but seeing them sitting together at dinners made her smile.

Gandalf spent most of his time with Aragorn and Éomer, taking and giving strength where he could. Aragorn had already told her that having the White Wizard sitting beside him gave more comfort than Gandalf perhaps knew, and for that she was grateful.

Tomorrow, they would arrive at the Gate. Tomorrow, Middle-Earth would hold its breath and the Valar would watch with fear as their world would either triumph or be utterly demolished.

Arathell sat at the campfire, finding one moment away from her brothers while they found Lagordir.

She took what felt like the thousandth shuddering breath of the hour, observing her comrades and watching as they polished and sharpened their swords. With the amount of it they had been doing, she was surprised that there was any sword left to actually sharpen.

A figure sat down beside her on her log, and she turned her head to see Gandalf with the fondest of smiles. Lost and perhaps fearful of what tomorrow would bring, she instinctively dropped her temple onto his shoulder while his arm wrapped around her, petting her hair. "You have done brilliantly, my dear girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss onto her head. "I am so very proud."

"We will win tomorrow," she dictated.

"Middle-Earth will win, yes," he agreed.

"If I do not survive tomorrow, Gandalf… promise me that you will take care of things for me?" Gandalf stiffened and his fingers twitched against her scalp. He resumed a moment later, signaling that he had even expected her to make such a request of him. Encouraged by his moving fingers, she continued, "Help my brothers and tell them that it was enough – everything they have done for me in my life – let them know that it was enough – more than enough even. Tell my father that I love him and that I could never have reached the point I am at today had he not been as supportive and caring for me as he was. Please make sure that he knows. I don't want him thinking that I do not appreciate him or love him. Tell him that I loved Mother too, and to tell her that when he sees her in Valinor. I never stopped missing her, and I always loved her."

"Arathell…" he sighed.

She clung tighter to him. "Tell Arwen I'm sorry. Tell her everything about me – who I am, what I believe in, what I love. Tell her that I want her to know me and that I'm sorry that I cannot know her. Please tell her that, Gandalf – I know you would tell her the truth – all of it. Do not lie to honor me – tell her everything." Arathell inhaled deeply. "Then find my Kara. Tell her I'm sorry too – that I could not come back to her. Tell her that she was the most wonderful thing that could have happened to me, and that she saved me in more ways than she will ever know. Her warm green eyes won my heart the moment I looked into them, and the Valar blessed my dirty soul by letting me love something as precious as her. Please make sure she knows that – she was all I had for so long… I never wanted to leave her… never did…" She trailed off and looked at the fire, tears popping in her eyes as she recalled her little girl's smile and the first time Kara ran to her in fear, looking for protection. Arathell could remember the first time Kara had called her "Mother"… A sob escaped her throat as she thought of the last embrace she had shared with her daughter, wishing it could have been one second longer and with one more 'I love you.' Oh, how Arathell wished for that.

"This is no easy task, my girl," he drawled.

Arathell shook her head and pulled away, looking pleadingly into Gandalf's eyes, her mind brought back to the task and focused, blinking hard at the tears for her last request. "Please, my friend. One more, please." He sighed once more and looked down for a moment before meeting her gaze and giving her an accepting nod. He already knew what she would say, but it needed to be said anyway. "Take care of him." She did not need to elaborate on who the 'him' was. "He will hurt and he will be broken, and I know that there is nothing that can be done to prevent such a thing. But please help him move on away from me."

"You know he cannot," Gandalf argued.

"Try," she begged, feeling the tears come back in her eyes. "Try to remind him that I do not want him unhappy and broken. Tell him to have faith, that he will see me again and that we will have forever waiting for us. Help him be happy again – in any way he is able."

"There is no one else for him, Arathell," he continued.

"I understand that. I am his and he is mine. But find someone who can at least keep him grounded and can hold him together until he is back in my arms again."

"Find someone who will love him but never have her love returned? You would subject a poor girl to this?" Gandalf demanded.

Arathell looked down into her lap. "Yes," she whispered. "This quest, once it is finished… the only thing that will matter to me will be him and his happiness and peace. I do not care how he finds it or where he finds it. As long as he finds it and it keeps him whole until I am with him again."

The Wizard debated it for a moment before finally nodding. "You know he has asked this of me as well, don't you?" he asked carefully. Arathell did not reply, a clog forming in her throat at the words. "Your father has known of the two of you for many years – since before even _your_ birth. He spoke of it to me many times. You are his daughter, and to him, there is no greater treasure than his children." Her eyes were watering and she felt a tear slip down her cheek. "To allow his youngest treasure to give away her mortality for a Man… you cannot imagine the toll this brought on his heart. He knew it would be your future. He could never predict how or when, but he knew, as did we all. He would lose you for all of eternity for the sake of Gondor's King and the King's happiness."

"Gandalf, please…" she whispered, the tears falling quicker now, but she did not try to battle them.

"When Aragorn appeared in his life, and Aragorn's love for you confirmed… Elrond tried to fight it. He tried to push Aragorn from you, anything to keep his daughter." A sob escaped her then. "But Aragorn refused to be swayed. There was no one but you in his world. Elrond told him that only by being the King would he be allowed to be with you. Aragorn defied him, saying that titles did not profess or refute love, for Beren was never truly worthy of Lúthien. Love was merely love." Gandalf paused and when she looked up at him, she saw that he was looking towards Aragorn's tent. "It was then that your father told me more… he believed that souls could be reborn, that history repeated itself, just as the Sun's path is always predestined and repeated, followed relentlessly by the Moon. It could never be confirmed, of course, but… he believes that at least the _love_ of Beren and Lúthien… it was so deep and so profound that it burned itself into the flesh of the earth. Nothing could rival it – there would never be something so powerful, so meaningful as their love and devotion in inspired to the two of them…until now."

She felt her eyes widen. "My father thinks that…"

"The love between Beren the Mortal and Lúthien the Elf-maiden found its way into the hearts of Aragorn and Arathell." Arathell couldn't breathe, couldn't think… "Since Aragorn's refusal to meet his demands, your father never pushed him away again. He knew then that Aragorn would never cease longing for you and loving you as Beren longed for and loved Lúthien. Aragorn proved his worth to your father."

"Why are you telling me this?" she murmured.

Gandalf looked down at her again with sad eyes. "I will do as you have requested of me. Should you fall tomorrow in battle, I will fight to remind Aragorn of the words you have said. But you must also realize that it will be upon deaf ears that I say these things to him. If he loses you, then all of Middle Earth will lose him."

"You mean to say that me dying is not an option," she stated.

"I mean to say that either of you dying is not an option, Arathell," Gandalf retorted. "You have overcome much and the faith you have for this world and its future is more than remarkable. But I must ask that you put as much faith into yourself and into Aragorn as you do for Middle-Earth. These Men here need one more miracle from their King and Queen, and words will not suffice here." Arathell frowned and looked away. "Think of your Kara." Arathell stiffened. "You made a promise to her to come home."

"How do you know I promised it?"

"Because I know you. Fight for your future, Arathell. You have fought for the chance of Rohan's, then Gondor's, now Middle Earth's. I ask that you fight for yours."

The Wizard stood and looked down at her still perched on her log. "It is not selfish to want to live, my girl. You fight on a scale for countries and the world… you have grown so much since I first held you in my arms as a baby, Arathell. You have grown to love this world and protect it to the best of your ability, and I am proud of that. But please, protect the little girl I held in my arms three thousand years ago. Protect the girl who terrified her father by wanting to chase monsters. Protect the girl who wanted others' happiness far more than her own. Please protect that little girl – there are too many in this world who could not bear to lose her, including me."

He left her side then, and she felt herself snap back to reality, reaching to brush away the tears. She stood as well and practically ran into Aragorn's tent, seeing him and Éomer discussing something over a small table. Upon seeing her, Éomer and Aragorn traded a look before Rohan's King departed, Éomer sending her anxious but sympathetic looks.

Aragorn turned, leaning back against the table and looking at her with his arms crossed. She collapsed onto one of his chairs and buried her face in her hands. "It will never be enough," she murmured. Aragorn remained silent. "This – what we have – it will never be enough, will it?" Again, he did not reply. "We have tried for so long to convince each other that whatever happens, what we have is enough, and that the world will keep turning if one of us is gone. That's not true, is it?" she demanded, looking up at him. His jaw was grounded together and his lips were pursed. "You knew that already, didn't you? You only tried to comfort me all of those times…" He shifted a little. "How is it that you hid your mind from me all of that time?" she snapped, standing and approaching him. "Do not say that hiding away in the mountains with the Dúnedain taught you how to hide your mind from me!" His mouth, which had started to open fell closed and he looked away from her. "I am thousands of years older than you! You are a Man – a Mortal! You cannot have been able to hide from me what Wizards could not! And you know this too, don't you? Tell me how!"

"Love is blind," he told her bluntly.

"I did not know that I loved you then though."

"Did you not hear what Gandalf no doubt just told you?" he rebutted. "This was not something that could be denied or gotten rid of. Your soul knew before even your heart and mind did, Arathell."

"Why could I not see you sooner then?" she yelled, the tears popping into her eyes again and she felt her hands clench into fists. "Why did the Valar show you before they showed me? We could have had more time! Why couldn't I see you from the beginning? Why would they only show me when it was too late?" She was sobbing now and she fell against his chest, pounding her fists against him. "I should have seen you sooner! We could have had more time! I want more time, Aragorn!"

"I know," he murmured, holding her close as she continued to sob. After a moment, she wasn't sure if she was sobbing hard enough to make him shake or if he was just as distraught as she was.

"I don't want tomorrow to happen!" she pleaded. "I don't want to die, Aragorn. I want more time!"

"I know, Arathell, I know."

"It's not enough," she continued, squeezing his shirt hard enough for her knuckles to turn white and for her nails to still jut into the palm of her hand through his shirt. She felt so anguished, so broken. "It isn't enough! It isn't fair!"

"We have to live, Arathell," he cried into her ear. He pulled away a little, grabbing her upper arms painfully hard and giving her a fierce shake. "We live. It is the only way." There were tears in his eyes as well, streaming down his face as the thought of what could happen overtook him.

"We cannot know that!" she snapped back, but he firm.

"Faith, Arathell!"

"I can't have faith about this!"

"Then have hope! Don't give in now or we are as good as gone!"

"How many times – I don't have hope!"

"Then have it for me!" He shook her again so forcefully that her hands fell on his upper arms to steady herself. She froze, watching as he broke even further in front of her, a sob crackling its way into the air separating them. At this point, she couldn't have known who it came from. "Please, Arathell. Please, meleth nin, please… have it for me. I can't…" he took a deep breath though it didn't seem to help him. "I can't lose you, Arathell, please. Please have hope. You have faith about this world living, why cannot you not at least hope that you and I will both survive?"

"I don't know how…" she sobbed. "I want to, but I don't know how. Sometimes, I feel it, but I can't make it stay – I don't… I can't."

"On the ship…" he started, breathing heavily. "What did you dream?"

Arathell stiffened, an image of a boy with chestnut hair and sparkling grey eyes appearing in her vision. "I don't remember," she denied.

He shook her again. "Don't lie to me!"

"Our son!" she sobbed. Aragorn mimicked the sound, but held her fast, waiting. "He was… beautiful. He had brown hair that looked like mine, but it was wavy like yours… He had… grey eyes… Aragorn, I can't!" she began crying again.

"What is his name?" Aragorn demanded.

She shook her head, trying to pull away, but he refused to let her go. "I couldn't name him, Aragorn… knowing that we wouldn't… I couldn't."

"We are naming him now," Aragorn vindicated with a sharp nod. "How old is he in your dream?"

"He was only a boy. Maybe six or seven, but no more."

"We will say he is seven. He has brown hair and my eyes." His voice stumbled on the eyes. "He _is_ , Arathell. _Is_ – not _was_. He _is_ as real as you and me, and we are going to try to meet him someday. Say it."

"He is seven," she hiccupped, fighting her way through every word. "He has… my hair, and he has… your eyes, Aragorn please, don't make me do this," she pleaded.

"No – he is our son, and he will have a name. What is he like?"

Arathell closed her eyes, the boy smiling at her as he leaned over her lap to look at her book. "He likes books with pictures," she murmured, her eyes still closed. "He has a kite of a dragon from Erebor. He likes to climb trees in the garden." Her eyes opened and she met Aragorn's gaze. "He loves us so much, Aragorn."

Aragorn nodded, concentrating with tears still dripping from his eyes. "He sounds like you," he croaked. "He sounds like an adventure waits around every corner for him."

"Yes," she agreed with a faint smile.

He looked ponderous for a moment before looking back up at her. "My name was Hope once…" he trailed off. "And you have had me…"

"Perhaps… but I did not have you as Hope. And I will not name my son 'Estel,'" she warned.

"No, I suppose not." He thought about it for a while longer before looking up at her. "Ieston," he announced.

"Wish?" she translated with reluctance.

"If you cannot have hope or faith for us… then wish for him," he begged. "He is our son, Arathell… he is a wish – a prayer –"

"A hope?" she clarified, arching her brow.

"Yes, he is a hope," he replied. "That is his name, Arathell," he affirmed.

Arathell exhaled nervously and looked around. The little boy was everywhere in her vision and with each turn of her head, she could see him, holding his arms out for her, begging her to hold him. "Alright," she hesitantly replied, looking back at Aragorn so she couldn't see the boy anymore.

"Say his name, Arathell," Aragorn coaxed. "What is our son's name?"

She floundered for a moment, and looked at the entrance to the tent. The boy stood there too, now looking imploringly at her with a hurt expression. His face fell as she continued to not speak and after yet another moment, he began to turn away just as Aragorn gave her another shake. "Alright!" she exclaimed, and both of them stopped. The boy looked at her again, waiting. Arathell took another shuddering breath before ever-so-quietly saying, "Ieston." The boy took a step closer, eyes hopeful and reminding her so much of his father's.

"Louder, Arathell," Aragorn demanded.

The boy nodded in agreement.

"Ieston," she said dryly, her voice crackling as she considered more how impossible the boy's future was.

"He is our son, Arathell!" Aragorn growled. "Do not say his name as if it was any other word! He is our son! What is his name?"

"Ieston," she snapped back. "Our son's name would be Ieston."

"It _is_ his name."

"If we have the time!"

"Do you want the time?"

"Of course I want the time!" she yelled at him. "Of course I want my son!"

"How much?"

"Don't treat this as if it is a game, Elessar!" she retorted, finally yanking herself away and giving him a push. "I want our son just as much as you do! You know I do! So do not play as if I could care less about him! I love that little boy, and there is nothing more that I could want than to be able to actually hold him in my arms!"

"Then we live tomorrow," he fought back, walking into her and staring down at her with a feral storm in his eyes that she returned just as heartily.

"We cannot know that!"

"Then what?"

"We hope!" As soon as the words popped from her lips, her hands ran up to cover them, eyes wide. Aragorn didn't say a word for what felt like hours, her lips just as sealed. Tears were running down her face again, and she looked back to the tent entrance, seeing that the boy – _her son_ – was gone. She hadn't been ready for him to leave. She wasn't ready to say goodbye. She wanted him back.

She wanted him back.

She _needed_ him back.

"We hope," Aragorn replied slowly, reaching to pull her hands from her mouth.

"We hope," she repeated slowly. "We hope that we live, so we can have our son."

His eyes fell closed and he pressed his forehead onto hers. "How could you not have hope, Arathell?" he asked gently. The fight was over, and they both knew it, but she felt as if she was shaking in the aftermath of her words and from seeing her son again.

She hesitated. "I've been afraid to," she admitted. "I don't want to be hurt."

"Do you think our son would hurt you?" he rounded.

"Not having him would," she pointed out. "Because it isn't enough… so I tried to restrict it to just us, but now… now, I know that it won't be enough for either of us. It hurts that we may not live."

"Then hope that we do," he persuaded. "Hope will not hurt you, Arathell. It gives you something to fight for, something to be strong for. What time you and I have will never be enough, but Hope is enough to make you fight for it. It makes me fight for you, for Ieston…"

"I prefer knowing, and having faith," she murmured.

"You gave me faith three nights ago where I had none. Please, take just some of the hope I have so that we both will live to see our city again – that we can meet our son."

"I'm scared," she whispered.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. "As am I," he murmured, stroking the tips of her hair and twirling it in almost a haphazard fashion. The pulse in his neck was fast against her ears, and she knew then that he did not say the words for her comfort. He truly was frightened.

"I wish we had had one more night in Minas Tirith," she said quietly. He remained silent and she felt her upper lip quirk up just a little. "Are you still against having me in a tent?"

"With the amount of people who could come in, it would not be wise," he warned, but his heartbeat began race in a pleasant way against her ear and she felt herself relax even more in his embrace. "Aside from that, I have learned that you are quite vocal."

"Is that a challenge?" she retorted, pulling away to stare at him smugly. His smile brightened and he leaned over just a little to press a sweet kiss onto her lips. "I'm very good at challenges," she remarked when he pulled away.

"My first concern still stands, Arathell," he drawled. "Maybe someday when we are home, we can explore the balcony a little more."

"Where everyone could simply look up and see?" she gasped playfully.

He chuckled a little. "There is another that you did not see. It faces the mountains."

"What about my vocal behavior echoing?" she teased.

"I thought I issued a challenge?" he purred.

"Insolent Man."

"Reckless Woman."

"Forever?"

"Always."

"We hope," she added, seeing his grin triple in size and he leaned down to catch her lips again.

Thankfully, no one entered the tent.

* * *

 **So there is the first chapter of Part Six. It is super long, but I couldn't find a good place to cut it, so there it is. We had a few plot bunnies wrap themselves up with the letter and Aragorn's ability to block out Arathell for so long. And Arathell has her hope now! That's HUGE, guys. I think this time, it might stick around permanently… I think… And we have a reappearance of our cute, little boy! As always, names for all my original characters (Ieston is mine, fyi) are taken from realelvish . net. It is a great site and I love it. If you guys are trying to write for this fandom and need names, GO TO THIS SITE. It is absolutely brilliant. (Ieston does actually mean Wish by the way.)**

 **I would love to hear what you guys think of Ieston as well. Of anything really, but I'm curious.**

 **Check out the music! This is another one of those songs that I have been planning on using since forever. It is absolutely beautiful, and I think it could definitely be described as being a perfect Aras song. Please give it a listen!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	83. Chapter 83

**Hello, my dears! Thanks so much for the reviews! I hope to be replying to them soon! Just wanted to let you know that thanks to my increasingly busy schedule with finals and summer jobs and whatnot, it may be a couple of weeks before I update again. I gotta make sure that I can actually graduate, after all.**

 **We've got a fairly big moment of character development in this chapter… I'd love to know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and three characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Six – There are Miracles

Dream On - Aerosmith

"Sing with me, sing for the years  
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears  
Sing with me, just for today  
Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away"

* * *

 **March 25, 3019 – One hour from Morannon – The Black Gate**

The air had been growing thicker with decay ever since they woke that morning. No one spoke of it, but the occasional coughing spells from the Men were indicative of the fumes. The sun lost its warmth, turning only into a light too bright against the blackened sky in front of them. It shone out from behind, blazing the smoke but being batted at like a noisy fly by the wisps of cloud.

The ground would rumble every now and then too, Orodruin angry for whatever reason seemed best. It was empty… the world. All around them were carelessly dropped black rocks and pebbles. There was no grass, no trees, no sound of animals to greet her…

Arathell's fear had grown since the night before, but she couldn't let onto that now. At the end of this, she needed to be strong, for the Men, for Aragorn, and even for Ieston who lingered in the back of her mind ceaselessly. He was not alive yet, but she felt the protective mother in her rear her head, stamping predatory feet at the danger that showed itself to her family.

Kara was thousands of leagues away, fighting the battle from what felt like the other end of the world. Her little girl was all alone, charged with the task of protecting her own little family and hoping against hope that her family would be spared from the doom that awaited them.

Arathell shifted on Faerdhinen thinking about her. She had made a promise to Kara when Arathell left. She needed to see her daughter again, play with her grandchildren, laugh with her son-in-law. No matter what happened now, it was that promise and Ieston that kept her moving in the right direction.

She needed to have hope for her family, both existing members and not.

Arathell looked at Aragorn, staring at the White Tree that was showcased on the front of his armor. She needed to live for this Man too. The war would be over today, and she needed to ensure that they both would live. Without Aragorn beside her, she knew her heart would break. All of the years she fought for independence and to be alone had only worked against her. She still clung to her independence, but she knew now that she never needed to be solitary in order to stand on her own two feet. It wasn't codependence – it was to be half of something greater than she ever could have thought possible. And losing him would mean losing a fraction of her world. She couldn't lose him. And Arathell knew just as fiercely that Aragorn couldn't lose her either.

"We hope," she said to herself, knowing that it had to have been the hundredth time that day. The time was almost upon them and she could not show fear. She would not be weak in the eyes of the monster who threatened her family.

She glanced back at each of them, marveling at how much this journey had changed her. Arathell Duvainith was so alone for so long, she had forgotten what it was like to have people who cared about her surrounding her. Shadow had stripped away all of the tenderness from her, convincing her that family wasn't needed – it only was pain and weakness, and Shadow could afford neither. So Arathell had suffered, and had felt the weight of a distanced family staring at her with anxiousness like she was merely an animal, wild and dangerous.

Then little Mara, warm and gentle had made the first strategic move in Love and Hope's favor. Kara had taken the next step, reminding Arathell of what it was like to have the admiration of someone who loved her. Glorsha, Thorent, Arabiff… they each captured a piece of her heart, teaching her to smile and showing her how to laugh.

Her family had grown before her eyes without her even noticing the changes. Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam appeared, little children who were afraid and small in a world they had no idea existed. Arathell had held them as close as she could, desperate to fight for the innocence that was so starkly contrasted against the evil that meandered through the world, like a snake hidden in tall grass.

Her brothers came back to her, relieving her of so much weight… her father had remained ever supportive, giving encouraging smiles. Gandalf, Celeborn and Galadriel were beacons to her when it became dark and uncertain – a rock she knew would never go away.

Legolas and Gimli were friends greater than she could have dreamed, protecting and playful, keeping her reclusive smile alive in more ways than they would ever know.

And Boromir… he pulled her from the ground and offered her the world. There would never be a more valiant Man that she would ever know, and she was proud to have known him as she did.

Lagordir, Brastor, Amdir, Haldir, Éomer…

Éowyn… There would never in this world be another friend like Éowyn. And she hoped dearly that Faramir could give her some of the recognition she craved.

She had Arwen again…

And then Aragorn. There weren't words for him that she hadn't already said to him. He knew. It was never enough, but he knew.

"We hope," she murmured again.

"Thellie?" Merry asked her from in front of her.

She was startled out of her reverie and she looked down at the bundle of armor. "Have hope, Merry. Have faith knowing that tomorrow will come and the sun will win against the darkness. But have hope that you may see it. Having hope is…"

"You found your hope?" Merry asked her quietly.

She glanced at Aragorn again. "I think it found me."

They were silent for the rest of the way, the horses nickering back and forth to one another as they obviously felt the evil grow closer and closer. Each of them knew what awaited them at the end. Arathell's hand reached around to land on Faerdhinen, pouring gratitude and love to her mare in any way she knew how. These horses were heroes in their own right, steadfast with their rider and following them to whatever end. Arathell had never meant to drag her Silent Spirit here and pit her against the loud hordes of filth…

The smell grew with every step as well, and before long, she could hear the Men behind her desperately try not to retch. It was meat, old and rotten, yet the scent of blood was fresh, overbearing their senses and twisting their guts into refusing ties.

Their company rounded one final corner before she saw it. The Black Gate. Her father had fought here once, three thousand years ago, before her time. Her eyes fell closed for a moment as the daughter in her desperately searched through the aura here, looking for a piece of his strength. All she found was more death, so much it nearly choked the life from her.

Brown eyes popped open again, and she wrapped her arm even more protectively around Merry. "We are almost finished, Merry," she whispered. The Gate was tall, pleated and looked forbidding all on its own. It was a grate – sharp edges cross-cutting the open air and even daring its opponents to reach out and touch. Sharp peaks lined the top of the Gate, a great crown of power and dominion that made her bones feel cold.

Everyone paused for a moment once they had all rounded the corner. The wall itself was greater in size than the numbers they carried. Merry shifted a little and reached to grab her arm around him tighter still. "For Frodo and Sam," he muttered to himself.

"Yes," she whispered back.

"Where are they?" a quiet Pippin on Shadowfax asked. No one could provide an answer.

Aragorn was the first to gallop forward, holding a hand to signal for the army not to follow. Faerdhinen did not need to be told to follow Brego, charging quickly after him in her own form of protectiveness. Arathell could hear more trotting along after her.

They stopped short of the Gate, the construction taller surely than the first ring of Minas Tirith. This was not a welcoming figure, meant to keep outsiders away and frightened while sheltering the rats inside.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" Aragorn yelled out, breaking the tight silence. She cringed at the sound, thinking for the thousandth time in these past months – if she could only breathe for one more moment. If there could be one more smile, one more laugh, one more deep peaceful breath. "Let Justice be done upon him!"

They waited with baited breath. Had Aragorn's ploy worked? Had he seduced Sauron out of hiding with the palantir?

The world froze, stuck in this incomprehensible pool of waiting… what would happen now?

Arathell jumped when a loud creak broke waves in her ears, Merry and Pippin reaching to cover their ears at such harshness. The hinges twisted, releasing a bedraggled tune that silenced all other noise. Even the Gate could silence a King of Men.

The doors did not open fully, pausing only when a horse appeared and began making its way through the Gate. It limped as it walked, blood dripping down his legs as steel tipped boots kicked at its scrawny flesh. It was dwarfed by the horses surrounding her company, a slave to torture and torment for who knew how long. Arathell could only pity the poor creature.

The monster sitting astride it was another matter. Wrapped extensively in black robes, it looked swaddled, a disease coddled close to Sauron, a nurtured fungus. Gloved hands held tight to the reins, clearly not entirely at ease on the mount under him. Its headdress was the most pronounced, reaching down and covering more than half of its ungainly face while the top mimicked the tips of the Gate behind it. Its eyes were hidden, along with its nose. Underneath, however, was a mouth more decrepit than any she had seen. Its lips were cracked, or purposefully sheared – she could not know, nor did she want to. They were frighteningly red, not from excess of blood from within, but rather from excess of blood on the outside. Again, she did not want to speculate on how such blood arrived between his shattered lips.

The monster paused in front of them all. When his mouth opened, teeth sharpened like spears snarled at her, yellow and almost black in color. Brown liquid cocooned them. It was a disgusting sight to be sure, but she arched her brow and waited. "My Master, Sauron the Great bids thee welcome," he drawled with a voice that sounded as though it had been pulled across miles of knives. His smile grew, excited and looking as though the battle could not have come sooner for him. When none of them responded, he continued, "Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?" He sounded bored now, the game not going as he had planned.

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, Faithless and Accursed," Gandalf spat, and the head of the Orc swiveled at a speed that should have broken his neck. At the title, he grinned again, the name a beloved friend. "Tell your master this: the armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

It chuckled, "Old Greybeard… I have a token I was bidden to show thee."

He reached down in front of him, withdrawing the most blinding of lights, her eyes nearly watered. Once she noticed that it was mithril, Arathell gasped and nearly fell from Faerdhinen.

"Frodo," Pippin whispered. The creature laughed, throwing the mithril shirt at Gandalf and her heart broke at the sight of it. "Frodo!" he yelled again.

"Silence," Gandalf barked.

"No!" Merry whimpered in front and she held him steadier, taking many deep breaths of her own.

"Silence!" Gandalf snapped again, and both Hobbits fell silent.

The monster laughed again. "The Halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host." It smiled again, lips cracking. "Who would have thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf. He did." A fight rose inside of her, wanting desperately to call out to Frodo, but keeping the exclamation tucked away behind her teeth. One thing however, continued to fight her within her mind. Where was Sam? This wretched thing would no doubt be quick to describe the torture that both little Hobbits endured, wouldn't he? Or had Sam already…? No. No. She would not believe that. She couldn't.

He laughed one more time before Aragorn began walking Brego up to the side of the Orc. "And who is this? Isildur's Heir?" it mocked. "It takes more to make a King than a broken Elvish blade."

Before another word could be uttered, Aragorn's arm swept round, slicing the head off of the monster with one clean stroke and with a fiery scream. Everyone gasped at the sight, but she could only stare at the fallen head, wondering how much it knew of Frodo and maybe Sam.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," Gimli remarked from behind Legolas.

"I do not believe it," Aragorn dictated, giving each of them a hard look. "I will not." Suddenly, the Gate began opening more and more, the creaking a foreboding noise in all of their ears. From between the growing crack, more Orcs could be seen, marching together and holding their weapons out, threatening and already knowing of their heavy advantage with numbers. There was no fear in their eyes – they knew they would win. "Fall back," Aragorn called. "Fall back!"

She swiveled Faerdhinen around and began racing after Brego and Aragorn.

"Hold your ground! Hold your ground!" Aragorn demanded. She looked up to the faces of the Men. They were so fearful, she almost wanted to tell them to run, but she did not. "Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers!" he continued. Arathell paused and looked towards him. Elessar rode before her, defiant and proud. He was everything a King should be. For a moment, she felt as though she was catching a glimpse of Elendil, strong and refusing to be made into a pawn of Sauron's wickedness. The Men shifted towards him a little, eager and waiting for his every word. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Man fails, when we forsake our friends and all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of Wolves and shattered shields when the age of Men comes crashing down – but it is not this day! This day we fight!" Everyone was transfixed, and she could see a fire burning in their gaze as the evil of Mordor continue to march on towards them. Mordor would wait for Gondor here and now. "By all that you hold dear, on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

She was brought back to the reality with the marching now a firm drumming in the ground. Arathell hurriedly dismounted and pulled Merry down with her. She turned to her mare, tears brimming in her eyes. "This is not how I would see your end, my sweet," she whispered. "You have a chance still. Shadowfax will lead you all to safety – you know this." Faerdhinen threw her head back and neighed louder than Arathell had ever heard her before. "No! No, I will not have you die…" She looked back at Aragorn before meeting the gaze of her mare again. "This is not the end, Faerdhinen. I will see you soon. Have hope, my sweet girl. Be brave for me." The horse shuffled, looking at all of the other horses that were getting ready to be sent away. Her head tossed itself in Brego's direction. "He will follow you. He will not abandon you. I will see you soon." Arathell pressed a tight kiss to the long nose of her mare, tears falling freely.

She pushed the horse away and called after her in Elvish to not stop and to follow Shadowfax. With one final look shared between the two of them, Faerdhinen turned and ran after the Lord of Horses.

Arathell turned herself to face the onslaught, Aragorn just now banishing Brego. She moved to stand beside him, her lover. Aragorn looked at her, and both knew that there would not be appropriate words to accurately describe the feelings that were tumbling endlessly in their guts. She wanted to kiss him one more time, have him hold her in his arms, even yell at her.

"Have hope, my Ilmien," he finally whispered, so faint, she could barely hear it over the sounds of the approaching army.

Arathell nodded and pulled Ristor from her sheath. "Do you know what Ristor means, my lord?" she croaked. The words of their first duel – the moment it began for them. It had been intimate and seductive with the way they had moved with one another – it was all they ever knew how to be.

"It means the Ripper, my lady," he replied. From the look in his stormy eyes, she knew that he had not forgotten. It had been one of their first real interactions, after all.

She grinned tightly and looked down. "I will have hope if you have faith."

He nodded without thought and for a moment, she truly thought he would kiss her, but he refrained. His eyes said everything: he would kiss her once it was over. They would not share a goodbye kiss, and truthfully, she did not want that either. "I love you, Arathell."

"As I love you, Aragorn," she replied.

The marching stopped, and they both were drawn away from one another as they stared ahead. The blinding light of Sauron's wicked Eye loomed ahead of them. It looked like a beacon of despair, fire coating its edges and leaving no room for love.

They all stood like that for another moment, staring ahead. Aragorn began to walk forward suddenly, drawing all of their attention. His sword arm fell to his side, entranced by the great ball of flame. She felt her back stiffen at the sight. Sauron was fighting him now, vying for the susceptible mind that was found in Isildur.

"Estel?" she called, the name deliberate, and the cord broke. Aragorn turned and looked back at them all, eyes watering as they sought her out first.

"For Frodo," he said gently before raising his sword once more and running at the horde.

Arathell paused, the earth falling numbingly silent and her heartbeat was in her ears as she watched him run, Andúril raised high into the air and catching the available sunlight. She saw the Hobbits charge forward, little legs carrying them as fast as they could go.

Her breath stilled and she filled her lungs completely before running in after the three. The sound came rushing back, almost startling her with the sense. Her long legs overtook the Hobbits' almost instantly, but she did not stop – now was not the time to stop.

The moment Ristor touched the tip of another blade, she yelled out in fury, feeling her arm take over. She couldn't see her targets; she could only push forward, looking for another mass of black. They were ants multiplying in front of her eyes, but she would not stop. She could not stop.

For a fleeting moment, she thought of the moment in Moria, thinking how she could not bear to think of leaving any of her comrades behind. Then she thought of Boromir, wanting to run harder and faster towards his adversary, protect him from his foe so he could have the love he deserved. She thought of Haleth, fighting to keep that dear boy alive in the heat of the battle.

Arathell thought of Ieston and the world burned wherever she looked, her anger towards the thing that fought her chance at happiness. She would not die today. Her son needed her to live. She wanted to live.

A roar deafened her for a moment and she swung around to stare at the new menace. A Troll, the height of three Men broke upon the Men, a large sword slicing through her Men like butter.

Arathell began to charge forward before seeing who the target of the Troll was… Aragorn… no…

In that moment, her fight dissolved and it was not brought back again until a hard body collided with hers, sending her to the ground in a loud thud. The Orc was instantly on top of her, but she gave it a fierce head-butt, feeling its nose crack against her sturdy skull. It yowled in pain and she soon felt its blood drip on her. She twisted herself away and stood, ready to turn to go after Aragorn when a harsh kick was delivered to her back. Her chest hit the ground so hard, she couldn't breathe and she felt Ristor's absence from her hand as soon as she hit the ground.

The Orc mounted her from behind and she felt its hand fall into her hair, yanking backwards to expose her neck. She screamed in fury from having its grimy fingers touching it all while she could see Aragorn fighting back as best as he could against the Troll.

A blade slithered around her neck and with her squirming, she could hear it chuckle in her ear. "Such a pity to kill such a pretty face…" it teased. Her stomach churned and she wanted to vomit. "Maybe I'll have my fun anyway, once this is over…" it carried on, distracted from the battle surrounding them both.

Arathell screamed again, praying someone would hear her, praying that someone would come to her defense and get this monster away from her. She needed to live!

Fortunately, it seemed that a soldier had heard her cry and turned, seeing his Queen collapsed on the ground, straddled by the Orc. The monster gave her hair a hard pull, and she felt some of her hair be yanked free from her scalp as it growled in her ear.

The soldier ran at them, arm rising higher and higher for a final strike against the foe. Arathell squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that the Orc would be too blind to see until it was too late to get away or hurt her more. There was a firm chop, and she fell forward, released from the Orc's hold. She had thought it was dead but when she turned, the blood in her veins ran cold.

In its hand… was her hair… shorn… gone…

The soldier killed the Orc without thinking anything else of it, but she stared at the brown that turned red with the mixing of the Orc's black blood.

Another roar broke her from her trance and she snapped her head towards Aragorn, seeing that he now was fallen on the ground, much as she had been a moment ago. The Troll's foot crushed his ribcage, and even with Aragorn's knife buried to the hilt in its foot, the Troll would not move away.

Arathell forgot about her hair, grabbed Ristor from the gravelly ground and ran. Oh, please let her not be too late! Visions of Boromir flashed in her mind; she could see him smiling in comfort and looking down at Aragorn. "Run, my melda," a voice whispered in her ear and she felt her feet fly.

She noted the heavy armor the Troll wore, preventing anyone from merely stabbing it through the back. She would need to get higher. Her body was shaking, praying that Aragorn would not become Boromir under a tree, praying that Aragorn would not fall from the cliff and leave her again.

Legolas was ahead of her, fighting just as desperately to reach his friend, but he was properly barricaded by other Orcs. She could see his mouth open wide with a scream of horror, no doubt believing that all hope was lost.

Arathell could not surrender that easily.

With another loud yell, she finally reached them and launched herself at the Troll's back, arms wrapping around its neck with a vice-like grip. Her feet scrambled against the armor that it wore, fighting for a foothold. Her sword dangled in her hand, and she sighed, steadying herself before she let go. Ristor fell with a clang, and she could only hope that it hadn't hurt Aragorn. At the very least, he had a blade again. It yelped in surprise, but she only grinned, finally feeling her feet glide into a perch on its armor. Arathell hoisted herself higher, barely managing to dodge the swinging sword the Troll carried as she did so. Her legs were now around its neck, and she lunged forward to her boot, pulling her dagger out.

Her eyes met Aragorn's, the message conveyed between the two as he nodded, already seeming to know her plan. Arathell took one more breath and watched as the Troll swung for her one more time. She ducked at the last moment before reaching around and slashing as hard as she possibly could at its throat. It screamed and began to fall forward, Ristor poised high from Aragorn's hand and being instantly submerged in the gut of the Troll, killing it at last. Arathell rolled off, thankful her sword wasn't long enough to go all the way through the beast, otherwise she may have been just as skewered.

Arathell ran over to see that Aragorn had somehow managed to have not been landed on. She began to smile for a moment when suddenly, the earth boomed under her feet.

She reached forward for him, feeling his arms wrap around her waist hurriedly. Everyone stopped around them, turning back to look at the Black Land carefully.

The Eye loomed ahead but did not look at them. Its gaze was focused on the mountain. She noticed above her that the Eagles had appeared, saving them and attacking the Nazgûl that she hadn't even known were present. The Wraiths fled soon though, flying back to Orodruin and screeching in what she could almost interpret as pain.

The tower of Barad-dûr began crumbling before her very eyes, and Arathell gasped, her eyes going straight to the Mountain, wishing more than anything that she could see Frodo and Sam. A sob escaped from her throat as the sound of Mordor crashing down fell like music in her ears. Aragorn was shaking – or maybe it was her shaking enough for them both; she didn't know. Her hand was covering her smiling mouth, watching as the Eye shrunk into a smaller and smaller flame before finally bursting, the force of it nearly knocking her down.

The Black Gate fell, dropping into the earth and taking the majority of the Orcs with it. Sauron was dead. It was over… they had won! And she was alive! And Aragorn was alive!

And maybe –

Mount Doom had had enough. Plumes of ash bloomed into the air as an explosion of lava burst from the top of the volcano, destroying it completely. The cheers surrounding her suddenly stopped, watching as it continued to explode, lava pouring and pouring endlessly.

"Sam," she whimpered, the tears now painful. "Frodo!"

Aragorn held her back, but she could not move, only being able to watch the death of the Hobbits and being just as unable to look away from the scene.

"This is not the end!" she heard Mithrandir yell, reaching his hand high into the air, only for an Eagle to swoop down and grab hold of him.

"He'll be killed too!" she screeched, now reaching forward to failingly attempt to stop the Wizard.

"He won't," Aragorn hushed. "Keep your hope for a moment longer, meleth nin… just a moment longer."

The Orcs around them were running, fleeing into Gondor, but this time, without chaos and death on their minds… or at least not the death of others. Arathell shuddered as she watched them all disappear, one by one from her vision before she turned to look at Aragorn, desperate for a distraction while Gandalf searched for the Hobbits. "Are you hurt?" she croaked. "That Troll practically stood on you."

Aragorn shook his head and grabbed her harder, pushing his forehead onto hers. The moment she felt him there, she sighed and felt her eyes fall closed. It brought such a relief to her, knowing that there would be more moments like these in their future. They were alive! That was what she had to think now. That and maybe Frodo and Sam were alive as well, waiting to be found.

A finger touched her hair and her eyes popped open, seeing a pensive look on his face. Her hair was tattered and now only darting to a little beyond her shoulder where he touched. The sight of it so short made her want to cry again. "Don't cry," he murmured. "I assume that had someone not done this to protect you… you would no longer be here with me. I don't care about your hair, Arathell. You're alive, and I would even have you bald if that meant you would be alive."

"It was all I had left of my past…" she whispered. "It was the only thing I had that reminded me of who I was when I was an Elf, Aragorn… it was a gift from the Valar and it is gone."

He sighed and looked at her thoughtfully. "I think that Valar have given you something far greater than your hair, Arathell."

"Arathell!" a voice shouted and she turned, seeing her brothers approaching. Happy tears popped into her eyes once more as she embraced each of them. "Your hair!" Elrohir exclaimed once he saw it.

Arathell blushed and reached for it nervously, biting her lip when she had originally grabbed too low. She looked again at Aragorn who was smiling encouragingly. "I'm alive because it is gone… I didn't need it anyway," she replied. "I only wanted it, and wanting and needing aren't quite the same. I will go on living without it." Aragorn beamed and she felt herself become stern. "But I will not have it looking so ratted, Aragorn! I will have it professionally cut so that it is not so repulsive to stare at, and you cannot stop me from doing that."

"You're beautiful with any way you wear your hair, Arathell," he answered.

She sighed dramatically and walked up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And now I am going to be forced to endure such romantic comments for the rest of our lives, aren't I?"

"That is the way I have always wanted it," he agreed with the crooked grin that made her heart flutter in excitement.

She smiled in surrender. "I suppose it will not be too terrible…" she drawled.

They were joined soon by Legolas and Gimli, both looking tired from the battle but with only a few scrapes and bruises to walk away with. Gimli proudly would tell anyone that he had bested the Pointy-Eared Princeling in the last battle of the age, coming in with a resounding 58 while Legolas had only had 50 even. But with Legolas' hand never leaving the pendant under his collar, Arathell was sure that Legolas did not even mind.

Merry and Pippin had fallen in next, both settling in between her and Aragorn. Both still sniffled about Frodo and Sam, but she told them to have hope. It was not over yet, and until it was, there was no reason not to be happy that the world was safe at last. Neither seemed to want to concede to the point, but she could not blame them. Arathell knew that she was only able to keep a calm demeanor because Gandalf hadn't returned with bad news yet. The moment that he did, she figured that she would be just as upset as Merry and Pippin and would not want anyone consoling her about it either.

But for now, she would be happy, or as happy as she could possibly be.

Lagordir and Brastor approached after that. Lagordir looked so relieved, the soft smile never leaving his face. She wondered about his home, whether Lothlórien housed any particular elleths that he was anxious to get back to. She had given him the option to return home many times, but he had denied it… maybe his lady love wasn't in Lothlórien… maybe there was someone else waiting for him in Rohan perhaps.

Brastor was another matter. Still firm in his ways, she knew that he was actually upset that he had not perished in the war like his brother had. It would be a weight that he would carry for the rest of his life, and it hurt her to know that. But out of all of the Elves who had joined her on their crusade, she had definitely become closest to Brastor, and she was very happy that her friend had survived, even if he was not.

"Where is Gorthion?" Elladan asked, looking at the two curiously.

Brastor met his gaze coolly and without fear. "He served his purpose and was therefore no longer needed." Everyone was silent for a moment at that, but no one seemed upset by his words. Gorthion was a dark figure in life, and more than once, she worried for the safety of the women surrounding him. To think that he would have done anything to them was barbaric, but she knew Gorthion. His sadistic tendencies would have given him all of the privilege he felt he needed if wanted something, or someone.

"My grandmother's people are far more… bold than any other of our race, I deem," Elrohir cautiously stated. "To murder another who has served for our cause –"

"You would be a fool to think that it was for your cause that he was here," Brastor interrupted. Lagordir, while seeming quite unsure of how to handle the situation finally gave a nod in agreement. "You have not seen his heart as I have and you know nothing of the tortures he would place upon the world. What I did was not murder, young lord, and you will do well to remember it."

"Brastor," she murmured, reaching her hand to rest on his arm.

"The Eagles are coming back!" Pippin suddenly exclaimed, pointing far out to the sky to a pinprick against the molten red.

Everyone now waited, even those who had not met her little Hobbits. She wished she had her long sight back, just to see if –

"I see two carrying something," Legolas narrated, and she shifted out of her seat away from the Hobbits and Aragorn to stare at the slowly approaching predators. "Gandalf rides Gwaihir, the chief of the Eagles… Gwaihir holds Frodo!" She nearly swallowed her tongue as she worried, fingers reaching to anxiously twiddle with her shorn hair. "The other has Sam!" Arathell expelled a breath loudly and began pacing, seeing the specks of white perched on the Windlord's back.

"Can you tell if they live?" Merry asked, but she remained silent.

"I cannot," Legolas said darkly.

Arathell could hear the powerful whooshes of their great wings as they got closer and closer, though that may very well have been her heartbeat. She would never know for sure.

Gwaihir landed carefully after depositing Frodo onto the cold, hard ground, the other Eagle following suit with Sam. Everyone in their Fellowship tore after Frodo, yet she found herself running for Sam, falling to his side in an instant. Her hand fell on his shoulder, satisfied that he was still warm though knowing where he had come from did not completely erase her fears. Her fingers leapt to touch his pulse, her teeth biting her lip so hard she saw a drop of blood land on his dirty white shirt. "Oh, please, mellon nin," she begged, fingers still anxiously rustling for any thump. It was her fingers, shaking so badly she could not tell anything. Arathell let out a gasp and pressed her ear into his chest, dying for a sound of life.

A strong beat pulsed against her ear and she began sobbing. She pulled away and began inspecting him for injuries, finding a large bump on the back of his head and cuts and scrapes almost anywhere her eyes fell. A rather deep one was sliced under one of his eyes, but it looked like it had stopped bleeding. He would need stitches.

"Is he…?" she heard Aragorn behind her.

"He's alive," Arathell sighed, hand falling to swipe at his sweaty hair. "Frodo?"

"Weak, but Gandalf is optimistic," Aragorn replied. "His finger is gone, Arathell."

Her head snapped to stare at the poor Hobbit, still being crowded by Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and her brothers. Brastor and Lagordir fell back and watched while Éomer was tentatively beginning to call the troops together to start amassing those who had fallen.

"He put it on then, didn't he?" she croaked, amazed at the Hobbits' strength after all that way…

"We know that Gollum had gone with them, according to Faramir," Aragorn reminded.

"You don't suppose he…?"

"They are bite marks," Aragorn affirmed.

Arathell grimaced and looked back at Sam. "Aside from a head wound that may result in a concussion, I think Sam will be just fine. Of course, I would prefer to have him home where we can properly monitor him to assure that he heals alright. I am worried about him sleeping just now though. Head injuries… he may not wake up…" she murmured, looking at her patient carefully.

A low groan escaped his lips and Arathell nearly jumped, but found herself smiling. "I was only shutting my eyes for a little bit, Thellie," he muttered. "I 'member what you said on that Mount'un… no sleepin'. I stayed awake, ya see?"

"Oh, my dear friend!" Arathell felt herself sobbing all over again and pressed kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. "Why must you scare me so much?"

A pained, exhausted chuckle fell from his cracked lips. "I'm a Hobbit, Thellie," he drawled.

* * *

 **And there it is! Ah, gosh… this is a pretty monumental chapter… I'm both sad and relieved to finally publish it here. I mean, I know that at least I got all the way to the destruction of the Ring, but… oh boy. Yeah, I'll just leave it at that. PLEASE let me know what you think… whether it is about the end of this monster-fic, or about Arathell's hair, Sam, ANYTHING. Please let me know.**

 **I'm sorry for the delay, and wish that I could make a solid promise as to when the next chapter should be uploaded. I'm about to go into finals week of my senior year in university, and there is quite a lot that comes with that.**

 **Check out the music!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	84. Chapter 84

**And I'm back! Sorry that it took so long, but I am here now with another chapter! Just so that you guys know, this story is going to extend further than the movies. There are a few things I need to tie off, and I need to space them out in a way that gives every plot bunny its moment in the sun.**

 **Thanks for the reviews! I know I didn't reply to them, and I truly feel horrid about it, and I'm going to try to get to those soon. But please be patient with me! And know that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE hearing what you guys think. I'm so relieved that you all liked the last chapter with the cutting of the hair! It was a big moment, and the moment where Arathell could really say goodbye to Elvendom.**

 **Still! More awaits, and I would love to hear what you guys have to say! Luckily, we've got some happier chapters ahead. Or do we?**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and three characters that may or may not appear in this chapter.**

* * *

Part Six – There are Miracles

Lucky - Bif Naked

"It was a Monday, when my lover told me,  
"Never pay the reaper with love only."  
What could I say to you, except, "I love you,"  
And "I'd give my life for yours."

* * *

 **April 1, 3019 – Fields of Cormallen**

Arathell woke up lazily that morning, clothed legs sprawled under heavy furs in her tent. Since the Battle at Morannon, she and Aragorn had begrudgingly agreed that sharing a tent was no longer necessary and they did need to have respect from the others. Surprisingly, she had been the most logical about it, and while grieved, knew it was not an unreasonable notion. Aragorn on the other hand had disapproved of it entirely, and had even pouted about it a little once the decision had been made. All it had done was make her laugh.

She rose from her bed of furs and walked to the makeshift closet, digging through the great variety of colors to finally find a gentle green dress that reminded her of some of the trees in Ithilien.

They had not yet reached Minas Tirith, and though the trek between Mordor and the city was only three days, they had made the decision to stop in Cormallen for Frodo and Sam's sake. Taking them all the way to the city was long and neither of them was fully healed. In fact, Frodo had yet to wake, something that made everyone but Gandalf feel very ill at ease.

Thankfully, people from Minas Tirith had made the journey to their victorious champions, bringing the necessary luxuries for royalty, which evidently included wardrobes and dresses. Arathell hadn't quite understood it all, but they were insistent, and for a moment, Arathell had actually questioned if she as the Queen would have any rights at all because her handmaidens had all but declared their superiority over her and were therefore allowed to make all of the decisions in the way of fashion.

After combing her shortened hair, she left her tent. Her fingers still would try to touch her longer tresses every now and then, and more than once she had cried. What would her father think? But every time, Aragorn had soothed her nerves, just as he always did, content to still twirl her short hair around his fingers. Arathell was slowly coming to grips with her hair, thinking back on a time where she could recall that her own mother's hair was considerably short for an Elf.

Arathell had always been an early riser, but only out on the road – something about a tent simply did not block the sun's early rays quite properly for her to sleep longer. Although, to be fair, she knew that to sleep until the sun was high was dangerous, especially if she was living outside. Those within the Fellowship had equally been fairly quick to wake, though Gimli didn't like it one bit. She knew that early mornings would be in her future as a Queen, but that did not mean she had to like them. Sleeping in, tucked away in furs was one of the few pleasures that Arathell had been afforded in her life, and it was yet another thing about her Elven life that was going to be removed from her Queenly life. It was saddening, but somehow, she figured that if she woke beside Aragorn each morning, perhaps rising with the sun would not be so terrible.

So when she saw the Fellowship sitting around a campfire, Arathell felt completely at ease. She could remember days on the road, going to and from Hollin with the wind in their faces. It was a pleasant sight, seeing her family of mixed races sitting together again.

Her brothers were likely still asleep, as was Gimli and Brastor. Lagordir, however, had also arisen and was sitting quite comfortably with her company.

She made her way to sit with them, dropping her shoulder heavily into Aragorn's side. It was a rare moment for them to be together in the way that they both wished, and they knew it. Given that the size of their company was so large, it wasn't so imperative to have Men surrounding Aragorn at every turn. Aragorn had strategically placed watches around the border of their army and everyone was confident that this would be enough.

Without prying eyes, she could be his lover again. She could be Arathell and not have to worry about being Ilmien for a while yet.

Sam had gotten used to seeing them together almost instantly. Like everyone else, he knew that "Strider loved Miss Thellie." And he had proudly stated that he didn't need to be told so either – he could simply see it. She had rolled her eyes playfully at his jesting and then Sam had pointed his cooking, skewered mushroom at her knowingly, saying that he knew it was only a matter of time before she realized she loved Strider back.

"Right on all counts, mellon nin," she had replied and turned her head to look at Aragorn who had some pink locked in his cheeks. He remained silent, but he smiled at her all the same.

"Is Frodo awake yet?" Merry asked suddenly, everyone looking to the White Wizard.

"Very soon, Merry," Gandalf assured, blowing a smoke ring from his pipe.

* * *

 **April 4, 3019 – Field of Cormallen**

"Arathell," Aragorn called, barging into her tent and looking at her with a fire in his eyes. Her hand stopped, feather pen dropping onto the parchment as she held her breath. "He's awake!"

She nearly tripped out of her seat as she ran past Aragorn to the healing tent. She could hear laughter inside and when the sweet tinkling of bells met her ears, she nearly cried, hand reaching to her mouth. Aragorn's hand predictably fell onto the back of her neck, ensnaring her short hair in a soothing hold. "He is alright," she breathed.

"Shall we go in and see?" Aragorn remarked.

"Where's Sam?" she demanded, turning to look at him.

Just at that moment, the Hobbit in question ran up to the tent, out of breath. Still in his bedclothes and hair disheveled, she could not imagine that Frodo could have a better friend. "You go on inside," Sam ushered. "I… I need a moment, if you don't mind. It's just… a great deal happened, if you follow me and I… well… neither of us thought we'd survive… and it's… it's just a little much at the moment."

Both she and Aragorn smiled at him softly. "You come in when you are ready," she soothed before taking Aragorn's hand and dragging him inside of the tent.

Frodo's pale skin shone vibrantly with youth, blue eyes sparkling with overwhelming emotion as he was reunited with his friends. Gandalf stood at the foot of the bed, laughing loudly while Merry and Pippin looked like children, dancing on the bed and both with happy tears in their eyes. Gimli stood at Frodo's side, using his heavy beard to mop at the tears, stopping to clap his hands in excitement every now and then. Legolas was also there, smiling so reverently at Frodo that it tugged at her heart.

"Arathell!" Frodo exclaimed when he saw her. "Aragorn! Oh thank goodness!"

She left Aragorn's side and approached the bed, her hands falling on Frodo's face and inspecting him for wounds, as she had always done, though she knew already that the wounds had been tended to. "You are alright?" she asked, the smile so full on her face, she was surprised that she managed to say any words at all. Frodo nodded happily.

He laughed with his face still clasped between her hands. "I have never felt lighter!" he replied.

Everyone's eyes instantly fell on his neck. The bruises were still prominent, a harsh line diving into his fair skin and radiating with red and mottled blues and purples. The Ring may have been destroyed, but it had left its mark on Frodo, even on his body. Arathell was thankful at that moment for not being able to see his mind, knowing that the damage the Ring had done to him would be far greater and likely irreparable there.

At the silence, she heard an additional set of footsteps, quiet and timid as they approached. Arathell moved aside instantly, Sam finally inside of the tent and looking at Frodo with such a small smile. She would never know what transpired in their gazes, but she knew that it was a profound moment for the two of them. All of the horrors and sorrows they had been forced to endure, all on the chance that they could save the world. They had seen the underbelly of this world and had survived. It wasn't just Frodo who had been touched by the evil of the Ring – she could see that now.

Her gaze fell on Aragorn, knowing that he was witnessing the same soulful looks between the two Hobbits. As if feeling her stare, he looked up and gave her a soulful look of his own. It quieted her nervous mind, knowing that she and Aragorn had gone through trials as well. She would never dare compare them to the trials Frodo and Sam went through, but she and Aragorn had had their fill of dread and misfortune. Though surrounded by their friends and support, the weight on their shoulders was still unbearably heavy at times, knowing what the world expected from both of them. That one look at Aragorn assured her that Frodo and Sam would be alright, that their precious minds would be resilient and come back – it was what she and Aragorn had done.

"Where am I?" Frodo asked suddenly.

"You are in the Field of Cormallen," Gandalf replied. She saw a twinkle in his eye, as if he was hiding a joke that only Frodo would understand. "It is eleven o'clock in the morning. On April fourth, if you want to know."

Frodo's eyes were alight with the same twinkle and he relaxed in his bed covers. His fingers moved hastily over the softness of the sheets. He looked like he was trying to memorize the texture, as if it would be taken from him all too soon. "You fell," Frodo stated, the question still evident in his voice.

"That, my dear boy, is a story for another time. All you must know is that I am here now, and you're lucky to be here too…" Frodo chuckled, and again, she felt only confusion. "The Rings is destroyed. Sauron has perished, once and for all, and your friends around you have survived thanks to your and Sam's efforts."

Frodo's eyes fell on her again. "What happened to Boromir?"

Everyone shuffled at the question, though Sam moved closer to stand beside his Master, looking inquisitively up at her. "Captain Faramir relayed to us that he was dead – how?" Sam continued.

"More stories for other times," Arathell hurriedly replied.

"Are you King yet?" Frodo turned to Aragorn.

"Not for some time yet," he answered.

"But you will be?"

"So many questions!" Legolas remarked with a laugh. "Don't you think that we have questions of our own, young friend?"

Frodo's ears tinged red. "Sam hasn't told you?"

Now Sam blushed and looked apologetically at Frodo. "He wanted to wait for you to wake up," Pippin answered for him. "No matter how many times we pestered him, he stayed as quiet as a mouse!"

"Very frustrating," Merry added with a nod.

Sam shrugged. "Telling a story like that on your own sounded too daunting and I did not think myself up for such a task."

"All is well," Frodo told him with a smile before looking at all of them. "You'll answer all of my questions too?" he asked. Everyone nodded their heads without hesitation. "What would you like to know?" he drawled with a sigh, settling into his bed even further.

Everyone came alive at that moment. "Well –"

* * *

 **April 8, 3019 – Field of Cormallen**

Arathell kicked at the makeshift wardrobe in her tent. News had radiated all throughout Gondor, notifying everyone that Frodo, the Ringbearer and his trusted friend, Samwise had survived the destruction of Sauron. And everyone seemed too anxious to wait for him to arrive at Minas Tirith, and given that Frodo was still on the mend and needed proper time to heal… everyone else who hadn't already arrived to the fields had decided that now was the time to join the rest of Gondor and its army in Ithilien…

Hence the real wardrobe. How people managed to tote such luggage all of this way seemed impossible to her, but she was amazed by it all the same. Her handmaidens had taken it all in stride, tossing out the makeshift closet they had brought and clapped happily when the mahogany wardrobe was carried into the tent… with even more dresses, surprisingly.

Tonight, Frodo and Sam would be honored the way they were meant to be. There was to be a great feast with much dancing and tunes sung and ballads played for the heroes departed from Arda. Tomorrow, the party would gradually begin moving back to the city where repairs and healing would truly commence.

She sighed and began twisting a short piece of hair. Arathell scoffed, thinking how she had had such long tresses for almost three thousand years, and now her body at last was completely used to the shortness. Her mind was another matter, but even that was beginning to acknowledge that having her Elven tradition cut away was not the worst thing that could have happened. She did survive after all.

Frodo had told them his entire story and they had answered his own questions as best as they could. They would take turns often, filling in details and making up for any lost time. Frodo seemed most curious about Merry and Pippin's adventures with the Ents, remarking with a singing laugh that it was much like the Old Forest route they had taken. None of the Hobbits made any further remarks about that, ears burning with embarrassment.

No, what bothered her now was the fact that they were still in Cormallen. After Frodo had had his rest, she was immediately eager to return to the city. Many of the women and children still did not know if their husbands and brothers and fathers and sons were alive. The fact that she could not know for certain that Kara was alive twisted a piece of her soul. She knew what those mothers in Minas Tirith were thinking, and Arathell wanted nothing more than to return the sons back to their homes for their mothers to properly know.

But with everyone who was capable of making the journey to Cormallen suddenly making a mass exodus from the city, she and the rest of the army were now confined to the field, leaving no doubt many mothers back home to fret all the more.

It was too late to go back now. They had already been in Cormallen for over a week, and though she loved this part of her country, thinking that it reminded her a little of the forests in Rivendell, she longed to be back home.

Home… at this, she did smile. Arathell Duvainith, after many long and weary travels and so much darkness, was home.

"What do you intend to wear tonight?"

Arathell grinned even more and lifted her chin at her clothes courteously brought by handmaidens. "Do you intend to match?" she teased, turning her head a little to see Aragorn approach her.

He grinned, swooping down to place a soft kiss against her lips, making her heart warm and cheeks blush. There were times when she still was frightened of what she shared with this Man. His love may have been eternal, but there were fears that she simply could not dispel. Her love for him was born during trials and depression. Now that the world was expected to see peace, would their relationship break? Would it survive?

Aragorn brushed his nose against hers before letting his forehead drop against her own. A swell of joy burst through her gut and her eyes fell closed. Yes, their relationship would definitely survive.

"I have not seen you in red for some time," he commented.

Arathell opened her eyes and looked into her wardrobe. "Have you ever seen me in red?" she asked suddenly, pushing her back into his chest while his arms folded comfortably around her waist, chin dropping onto one of her shoulders. "I do not even think I own a red dress in Rivendell."

"You do," Aragorn replied instantly. "It reminded me of wine when I first saw you in it. Kara was gone and you had just returned from her wedding. You told me that the Dwarves had made it for you."

"Oh, yes, that one," she remembered. "That was the only time I wore that dress, I think."

"Yes, it was." She turned her head and looked at him curiously, seeing him flush just a little. "As I said, it reminded me of the color of wine. The wine of your halls was so smooth and full yet had a spark of audacity that made it addicting. As a young, impressionable Man… seeing you in that color… my mind made comparisons…"

"My personality?" she guessed.

"No, meleth nin… I wondered if that was how your kiss would taste." He blushed more then and she even felt heat rush up into her face.

"Oh," she breathed. She shifted slightly in his embrace, feeling an ache pool in her lower abdomen. Since the death of Sauron, Aragorn had become incredibly playful – at least when it was only them. He had always been an eloquent speaker and was able to rouse thousands to fight for his cause. It turned out that he was also impeccable at arousing her with his words. But the poor Man could barely contain a blush, especially when it was in regards to his younger years. When discussing present times, he was confident and perhaps even arrogant in knowing how a phrase, or even how a word was said, could affect her. "How do I…?"

"I thank the Valar that your lips are not alcohol for I surely would be a drunk," he answered, making her blush again. He chuckled at little, no doubt seeing her cheeks color at the flirtatious comment. She felt his face press against hers, making her look back at her closet.

"I believe I have a red dress," she muttered, reaching for a maroon looking one. It was nowhere near as dark as the dress he was referring to, but when she pulled away to hold the dress up to herself, she grinned at the mischievous look in his eye. "Will this do, my Elessar?" Arathell teased.

His smile softened and he reached for a strand of her hair. "You know I think you are beautiful in anything. But… yes. A bold color for a bold gamble that created a bold victory."

"And you want your Ilmien bold?" she continued playfully.

"I'll have my Ilmien in any way she allows me," he answered. Arathell sighed, dropping the dress a little to give him a mocking glare. "I have no intention of changing my phrasing, Arathell, so you ought to get used to it. We have all of eternity for me to lavish you in the compliments I think you ought to have. Plus, I have so many years of absence from your side that I must catch up on," he added with a smug smirk.

"That was by your design," she argued.

"Hence my need to repair the situation!" he retorted. His eyes were bright and with the smile so ridiculous on his face, she couldn't help but sigh and walk into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, red dress still in hand. "I have heard word from your grandfather," he mentioned. The calmness in his voice soothed away any fear that would have thought to take root, so she waited patiently for him to continue. "He and Thranduil have cleared Dol-Guldur of the remaining Nazgûl. Mirkwood is being cleaned as we speak." Arathell heaved a sigh of relief, feeling like all of the pieces of their wrecked lives were on the mend, being put back together one by one. "Lady Galadriel assisted them."

"Of course she would," she replied proudly. "My grandmother is quite fierce when she desires to be. She is someone I am grateful to not have as an enemy." He chuckled a little and nonchalantly bumped her nose with his. He did not make to kiss her, only share that moment of closeness, and she loved it. "I am happy to know that Mirkwood may someday be the Greenwood of old, but… I wish that it was our home that was also being remade."

"It is, meleth nin," he said softly.

"But we are here away from where we are truly needed! I care for Frodo and his wounds and want him truly to get better, but we cannot delay here any longer! The people need us, and the mothers left in those walls deserve to know what happened to their sons on that day. Fathers, brothers, husbands – the women have a right to know."

"They will, Ilmien," he breathed. The sound of her other name gave her pause. It wasn't a reprimand, and for that she was satisfied. He acknowledged her want to be the ruler she was born to be, and it showed that he admired her tenacity when it came to their people. "We will be on the road again tomorrow."

"I wanted to be on the road one week ago," she muttered.

"Frodo had not awoken. And the women of the city are already most likely aware of who has survived out of their families. We sent the scout up to the city with the list of all names present with us. I had given him the order to relay to the people the names on that list," he muttered.

Arathell sighed again and lifted one hand from around his neck to reach for her face, leaving her elbow still propped on his shoulder. Her palm pressed into her forehead and she groaned. "I want to be home."

Aragorn laughed again and reached to take her hand, playing with her fingers. "We are still in Gondor. We are still home. We have endured for this long – two days more will not kill us."

"Don't expect me to be happy about it," she grumbled.

"I already told you that I'll have my Ilmien in any way she allows me," he rebutted, making her smile.

* * *

The feast was an incredibly merry affair and after some time, Arathell had practically forgotten her extreme wish to be back at Minas Tirith. The dancing was superb thanks to the addition of handmaidens that had arrived with various healers.

Her eyes were trained mostly on individuals within her company. Frodo and Sam sat at the high table with her and Aragorn, though both of them were silent. They stared out at the frivolity with nostalgia burning in their gaze. No doubt their hairy feet knew the steps and could dance to any tune, but their minds were too tired for the likes of such dancing now.

Merry and Pippin were singing to a group of Men, holding their flasks high in the air with peaceful smiles. She could still see them dancing on the table in Edoras, and now… goodness, their transformation would never be anything she would be able to fully accept.

Legolas and Gimli stood at the entrance to the tent, laughing quietly with her brothers. For once, Gimli looked quite content, despite being surrounded by three Elves. It was amazing to witness, she supposed – two races forever destined to be at odds with one another enjoying the others' company without thinking once about their differences and only their similarities.

Lagordir dwelt with Erkenbrand, and once again, the easy conversing between the two made her smile. Lagordir clearly had fallen in love with Rohan and its peoples, and Erkenbrand seemed to have become a very good friend over the course of the journey. Arathell paused to wonder how such things could happen – with so much death and destruction, how was it that such formidable friendships and relationships could be founded?

Éomer was surprisingly dancing in the center of the grand tent, a blushing young lady on his arm. She had long silvery blonde hair and clear blue eyes. From the side of their dancing, Arathell could see Prince Imrahil smirking with tears in his eyes at the sight.

Her own brown eyes searched through the crowd, looking for one more… sighing a little when she saw Brastor. He stood by the entrance to the tent, ale in hand though he wasn't drinking from it. He surveyed the crowd, eyes never lingering on anything, so much so she wondered if he saw anything at all.

Arathell rose and was about to go make her way to him when she saw a wiry girl approach him. Her hair was pinned back in an exceptionally loose black braid, as if she had already been dancing for much of the night. Her clothes were rather plain and the hems dirty, but she seemed pretty enough. From her angle, Arathell could see that her slightly tanned cheeks were flushed and her smile was wide.

Arathell pursed her lips, praying that Brastor would be kind and not send the girl away crying. Her jaw nearly dropped when she saw him politely clink their flasks together. Brastor's shoulders dropped in relaxation and he smiled a little as the girl rambled. His eyes were focused on her, never departing. Arathell continued watching, still standing and completely in awe of what she was seeing. After another moment of observation, she saw the girl put down her mug and then boldly reach for his. Again, Arathell waited for the moment of rejection, but he actually allowed her to take the ale and then his hand. With some playfully hard tugs, Arathell watched as they came upon the dance floor, falling into step with one another as if they had practiced and knew the other already.

This was not their first meeting.

"My lady?" Arathell heard and swiveled her head to look at Gandalf and Aragorn who were both staring at her carefully, Gandalf with the ever-present twinkle taunting her.

"Brastor – he – do you see him?" she demanded, nodding her head in the Elf's direction.

Aragorn grinned. "She is a healer, meleth nin," he explained. "And you sent Brastor to the wards the evening after the battle. You even noticed that he never strayed far from the wards. Young women with their lives now ahead of them were bound to take notice of an Elven warrior saving people from their city." Arathell cocked her eyebrow at him in question and he shrugged. "I noticed when my Elven warrior was saving a city of Men," he drawled, looking at her suggestively.

Arathell rolled her eyes and sat back down again. "Do we know her name?" she asked.

"You are his closest friend," Aragorn replied. "If you do not know, then surely none of us do."

"However, it has been pointed out to me many times that I am rather slow in noticing all things involving romance," she retorted.

"Ask Merry and Pippin then; they ought to know," he reasoned.

"Her name is Nethril," a voice grumbled and she looked across the table to see that Gimli and Legolas had approached. "If you are asking after Brastor's lass, her name is Nethril."

"How do _you_ know that?" she asked.

"I went to bring him to the courtyard the day we departed Minas Tirith," Gimli stated, leaving it at that and leaving the rest of them to make whatever conclusions they could from the vague answer. "She seems nice enough," Gimli finally commented after a bout of silence. "I've seen him smile once or twice with her around, which is more than I have seen him do ever before. So I take her arrival in our merry band to be a good thing."

"Well, if we have your approval, Master Dwarf, then I daresay that I will trust your judgment and never question the girl's intentions again," Legolas replied with a laugh, patting his friend on the back.

"Again?" Aragorn questioned.

"I saw the two together one evening before we left and I was concerned that she only gravitated toward him because he is an Elf," Legolas explained nonchalantly.

"How could I not know?" Arathell demanded.

"Probably because you would not be able to stop yourself from making fun of him for it," Lagordir mentioned, suddenly a part of the conversation. "He was very explicit with me when I saw them in the wards one night. I was not to say a word. But now, I do not see the harm."

"Did you know about this?" Arathell demanded, looking at Aragorn and Gandalf.

"Well, I knew of her position in the wards… I did notice that they worked alongside one another for most of the patients they treated, but I never did suppose that anything more would come of it," Aragorn ventured.

She huffed and looked at the Wizard. "I figured that it would happen," Gandalf admitted. "I only did not know who it would be."

"And once more, I am left as the last to know!" she grumbled.

"I didn't know!" Sam chirped, making everyone laugh.

* * *

Arathell kicked at her covers for the hundredth time that night, never being comfortable enough for sleep to take her. Despite the melancholy tune sung during the night's festivities, the dark lullaby's music had waned from her mind, leaving her anxious once more to be back on the road. It did not matter so much what Aragorn said – she wanted to be home – _home_. After so long without truly having a sturdy place to put her roots, she was desperate to settle herself into Minas Tirith, fortifying her fragile heart and giving herself the reprieve her soul had been searching for. They would be back on the road tomorrow, but it would never be soon enough for her.

Huffing in annoyance, she exited her tent, seeing watchful fires sprouted over the campgrounds in warm vigilance. It was still rather doubtful that any of Sauron's forces would try to attack, but one could never be too sure. Her eyes scoped the perimeter of their establishment, seeing several guards perched like statues in a wide ring. Fear was silenced and almost a haughty pride emanated from the guards, daring anyone to verge too close to the victorious party. She smirked at the sight of it.

Another figure soon caught her eye however, and she walked over to him, sighing once she got close to announce her presence. His stormy eyes glanced back at her before his head fell a little with a small smile on his face. "I was just thinking of you," Aragorn murmured.

Arathell arched her brow and walked closer, pressing her forehead into his shoulder blade and taking one of his hands lightly, twiddling with the fingers. "Anything specific?" she replied, feeling him pull away from her again and look back out of the camp.

He sighed and fidgeted a little. "You would not like it," he warned.

"There are many things that I have said that you do not like," she reminded him, now resting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping her arms loosely around his middle. "What are you thinking about?"

He paused for a moment, deliberating his words before he finally began, "I have been a Ranger for all of my life, Arathell. I never knew true lordship, though the title was given to me freely. I have spent more of my nights in the Wild, not having bathed, hunting for myself, looking like a beggar and been treated worse. And yet…" he paused, one of his hands resting on top of hers. "Because I never knew lordship to the degree that others around me have… even you… I never hated my life as a Ranger. It was comforting to retreat into the trees. It was relieving to know that I was not solely in charge of making all of the decisions."

"You are afraid of being the King," she assumed. His head drooped. "And you thought that I would have the proper words to dispel your fears?" she continued. Aragorn remained silent, confirming her belief. "My love, it pains me to tell you that there are no words that can adequately get rid of such a fear. As rulers, it is our duty to make the decisions that cannot elsewhere be made. Unfortunately, we are charged with protecting and ensuring the happiness of the people of this country. We must participate in things we would rather not, and we can never know if what we do helps or will ever help. It is right for you to be afraid of this, Aragorn. I'd be worried if you weren't," she told him.

He sighed. "My life – our lives – are about to change in ways that we can't imagine," he muttered. "I do not know how to prepare."

Arathell chuckled a little and moved from behind him to stand in front, reaching to cup his face and sweep her thumbs under his eyes. "Love, you have been preparing since the moment Boromir passed," she soothed. "We may have been living like vagabonds for a time since that day, but there was a change that happened in you when he passed. I saw it – everyone saw it. You've rallied a Wizard and Kings and entire countries and races to you and the protection of this world. People naturally looked to you as their leader, and that was with you dressed as a Ranger, mind you. Out of all of the shining armor and fortresses and lords… they looked at a Ranger. You are right to be afraid – I myself am terrified. I hated ladyship in Rivendell and never thought I would be able to fit the needs of the people I was charged with. If I hated ladyship, how am I supposed to be the Queen of a country? But that is beside the point. You are right to be afraid, but I do not truly think there is anything for you to be afraid of."

He scoffed. "The riddles of the Elves have not forsaken you just yet, I see."

"You would be a bad King if you thought you had all of the answers and were not afraid of taking care of an entire country in the aftermath of the greatest war of this age. But – my love – but, your character and your wisdom will help, and I am confident that you will make the right decisions and the people will follow you whole-heartedly. Plus, you forget, you are not alone in this. I will be beside you for every moment, and Gandalf will likely assist, and so will Faramir, and Imrahil, and maybe even those within our Fellowship for a time," she replied. "The others will help ease you into this role, and I will be beside you for every step. We will learn together."

Aragorn exhaled loudly, eyes closing and he nodded to himself, whispering her words. She smiled softly at him and tugged his surprised lips down for a gentle kiss. "I know you must be Ilmien to Gondor, but –"

"It is as you said on the ship: we started this as Aragorn and Arathell. I will always be your Arathell first, and you will always be Aragorn to me. Often, I do not think I need Elessar, the King of Gondor, to soothe my fears. Just as I do not think you need Ilmien, Queen of Gondor, to soothe yours. We remain Aragorn and Arathell. You need not fear for that."

He nodded again. "What about when I become old?" he asked, and she cocked her head to the side, feeling confused. "I… you may have forsaken your people for me, but you will stay young and beautiful until the day I die."

"My goodness, Aragorn, such fears!" she remarked. "You think I will not want you once these hairs are grey and this face is wrinkled and these hands old?" He fell silent. "Oh, my love, we have spent such time delving into my insecurities and you have healed every single one. I must admit, it hurts a little to know that you value my sanity more over your own." He still did not say a word, but he looked away from her. "Though it unfortunately does not surprise me in the least," she sighed. "You have always been almost too selfless where I am concerned. Well, Aragorn, you wanting me to heal is not quite the same as needing your hurts and fears to heal."

"I would call you healing a need of mine," he retorted gruffly.

"And I need you to not fear for our future," she snapped back just as easily. "Sauron is dead. Gondor is free; Rohan is free, and our friends are safe. We have each other and we love each other. By the Valar, is this how you felt when talking with me?"

"Arathell, don't –"

"No, _you_ don't. This has been your dream since you met me, as you say. You have wanted me beside you, and you say that you always want that for us. I am here now, and I will not have you afraid of those wants. I can see it, Aragorn – you are afraid that I may not love you as deeply as you love me." He stiffened and she knew that she had hit the mark. Now voiced and practically confirmed, she realized that it stung in a way she had not been expecting and she retreated from him a little. "There will always be a part of you that does not trust me," she surmised, feeling an unwelcome lump grow in her throat. "I left you once and now you fear that I will leave you again when I hurt too much or when I supposedly will fall out of love with you."

"Arathell…" he sighed. "I want your future to be the brightest it can possibly be."

"I gave up my immortality for you, and now you are showing signs of regret?" she demanded.

"You thought we would die!"

"And that meant binding my soul to yours for all of eternity, Aragorn! How could you question that?"

"In eternity, we wouldn't have the same obligations that we do now! We would never age, never rule; it would be only us."

Arathell felt her body begin to shake with rage from such accusations and before she could control herself, she saw her hand slap across his face, the sound loud in the quiet campground. "We have a son," she growled, feeling her throat tighten. He froze, hand halfway to his face. "His name is Ieston." She tilted her head back and looked at the stars, wishing that her queenly self could appear for but a moment, just to give her strength. "I may not have loved you for as long as you have loved me. I know that when I turned away from you, I broke your heart, and it is my own fault that you have this fear that I could leave again. But, Aragorn… I have given so much to you. You are not even a century, so you could not know, but out of my three thousand years on this earth… never have I invested so much in a person. You know everything… you've _healed_ everything…" A tear fell from her eye, but she did not push it away, wanting him to see it. "You've given me a home – in Minas Tirith, your heart… eternity. I've never had that before, Aragorn. I've never had a home, and now that I do… you have me… Aragorn, you have me. I love you, and I swear that even when you are old and frail, I will still love you. And I will still need you and I will still want you. And I will rest my head knowing that one day, in Mandos, we will both wake up and we will be young and fair and strong again. Both of us. I may not age like you do, but my mind will fade just as yours will. We'll be together again in the way that we want. This life now… here on Arda… it is so brief – a flicker in the vast expanse of time. We suffer little in our future, which will already be far less than what we have already suffered _together_ … it is worth what is waiting for us."

"Arathell…" he said again, carefully reaching for her hand.

"Not now, Aragorn," she replied, folding her hands behind her back. "I understand your reasons for not trusting me and for worrying about what may come. But to know that these are – or were – your thoughts, you must equally understand that it hurts me. You love me more than anything, and yet you cannot trust me with the piece of you that actually loves."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I know," she calmed. "And I am sorry as well. But I need time to… whatever I need to do. I will see you in the morning." Keeping her arms behind her, she walked past him, pausing for a brief moment to kiss his cheek.

Collapsing on her bed, Arathell only wanted to cry. It was just as she had predicted… she had tarnished him. She was too dark, too twisted, and it affected him. He couldn't trust her because of who she was. Perhaps she had been right to leave him after Boromir's death… But she would not leave him now. She could not do that to herself, and more importantly, she could not do that to Aragorn. She knew that he loved her. She knew that with everything in her and that was perhaps the only thing that kept her tears locked away. Arathell could not give him a reason to lose faith in her, even more than he had lost already. She would only have to become better at preventing him from changing into a dark thing as well… was that right? Would turning herself into something he wanted save him? Was that fair to her?

* * *

 **So… hehe it's been a while since I've really done a cliffhanger, and I found myself missing it while proofing this chapter. As a result, I'm electing to cut it off here. I know – I'm evil. I'm quite sorry (not really). In any case… maybe I'll be inclined to put up the next chapter quicker if I get enough rage and fear? Haha, I'm just kidding. I'd never hold chapters for ransom, so maybe I'm only evil in a good way.**

 **Sorry for the ramblings. But please let me know your thoughts! What about Brastor? Any love for our brooding Elf? And as I said, I'll try to respond to your guys' reviews soon. And if I don't get around to it, know that I love each and every one of you and appreciate you bunches!**

 **Check out the music! It's super pretty!**

 **Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	85. Chapter 85

**Hey there, loves! I am back for another chapter! We are getting sooo close to the end now, it's crazy. After this chapter, I have only six more pages of story left to share with you all… Keep in mind that this chapter alone is eight pages. So… VERY CLOSE now, my wonderful readers.**

 **PLEASE READ: I think after this chapter, I will have one more chapter of actual story… and then the epilogue. So, two more. They will both be quite short (obviously if there are only six pages left) so I don't intend to drag this out much longer. It hurts my soul terribly. BUT and here is a fun little thing that I have shared with some of my earlier followers who have been with me since practically day one… Those who have been here and have been reviewing with me for… let's say at least 20 chapters (counting those who are actually finishing the story as I post it – not those who stopped somewhere in the middle) will get their own one-shot! Even if they have already received a one-shot for a 100th reviewer challenge, they can still get a one-shot of their own. It's my little way of saying thank you to those of you who have stuck with me as I have heaved out this monster of a story. As always, you pick what you want, just as long as it isn't smut, I'm cool with writing it for you. Those who have more reviews submitted will obviously be put on the top of my list to get a one-shot out to. Again, thank you ALL so much for being with me through this journey. I have written fanfics plenty of times before, but this one is my epic.**

 **Anyway, we aren't quite done yet, so let's keep on moving! DIRECT CONTINUATION FROM LAST CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and two characters that may or may not appear in this chapter. AND A SURPRISE SPECIAL GUEST STAR! (tying off another plot bunny here).**

* * *

Part Six – There are Miracles

Here's to Us - Halestorm (Guest Version)

"Stuck it out this far together  
Put our dreams through the shredder  
Let's toast 'cause things got better  
And everything could change like that  
And all these years go by so fast  
But nothing lasts forever"

* * *

 _Would turning herself into something he wanted save him? Was that fair to her?_

Oh, her thoughts were too muddled.

The flap of her tent flung open, and she saw Aragorn standing there and she rapidly shut her eyes, feigning sleep. "I saw your eyes open, meleth nin," Aragorn murmured.

She sighed and rolled away from him. "I told you that I need time," she croaked.

"It's my turn to be selfish," he argued and her eyes snapped open, still not turning to look at him though. Against her better judgment, she felt an ache grow in her abdomen at his harsh tone. "We have a flicker of time together on this earth," he continued. "And I will not have either of us going to bed with hurt in our hearts."

She scoffed. "I'm already in bed," she pointed out childishly.

"Then get out of it," he reasoned.

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm wanting to talk to the Woman I love," he ground out.

"But not the Woman you trust?"

"Stop making this about yourself," he snapped. "We agreed it was my turn to be selfish."

"Oh, I hadn't realized that it was a collective agreement. Forgive me," she muttered sarcastically.

Arathell heard him growl and before she knew it, he was on her bed with her, turning her to lie on her back while he held her down. His snaps of anger were not new to her – he had always been rather possessive and more prone to aggression when it came to anything involving her. And curse her for feeling as aroused as she was because of it. Bastard.

"Tell me you love me," he begged. The anger disappeared in his voice and in his eyes, but he still held onto her wrists above her head tightly.

Arathell froze as she stared into his eyes. All of the times she ached for approval from anyone flooded into her thoughts. She had wanted people to see who she was as a woman, not as a warrior or a daughter of a famous Elven lord. She wanted recognition.

Aragorn wanted that now. He didn't want to be seen as a King or a lord or a Ranger. He wanted to be the Man that she loved and he needed to know that it was that person that she loved and not the other roles that came with him. By the Valar, he was just as insecure as she was. And she had never known.

"I love you," she said. His eyes watered and she sighed, letting go of the fight within her and relaxing in his grip. "I love the way you care for others. I love the way that you can empathize with the people around you. I love how you can make them feel safe. I love how you are bold and fierce when protecting the things and people you care about. I love your mind and all of the wisdom it has. I love how loyal you are. I love how humble you are, how despite all that you have done, you can still distance yourself to look for ways to learn more, to improve. I love the way that your hands can heal any hurt.

"I do not love Elessar, the son of Arathorn, or the Chief of the Dúnedain more than I love Aragorn. Just. Aragorn. I could be living in a hut in the middle of the mountains, poor and in rags, and I would still look forward to the moment you would come home to me. I don't need the others, and I don't want the others. I only need and want Aragorn. You are my home.

"If you want to run from Gondor now and hide for the rest of our lives, I will go with you and never look back. Because I happen to be quite selfish and would stay beside you. I would be disappointed, because I know that given all of the things I love about you… you can do this. You are more than all of the others. They will call you Elessar and the Rangers in the North will call you their chief. But it is going to be Aragorn who accomplishes this. And it will always be Arathell next to him.

"When you are old… your soul will still be the same. Souls don't change, as you once told me. I love your soul. When you are old, I will still love your soul. I will miss your handsome face, but I do not doubt that you will still be just as beautiful to me."

It was a long winded answer and her wrists were getting uncomfortable in his grip, but she would not tell him to let go. He needed her like this right now and she was not going to take that away from him.

"Why did you leave?" he whispered.

Her heart broke further at the question. "I could not bear the thought of your soul being mutated just from associating with mine. I still had so many hurts when I walked away from you, and I could not subject you to suffering those things. You were pure and free, and I did not want to be the one to take that away from you."

"I was not pure and free though," he muttered.

"I know that now," she soothed. "And I know now that what we have is more than what Elessar and Ilmien have, or Strider and Shadow have. I regret nothing more than I regret walking away from you. You did not deserve that. I'm sorry, Aragorn. I thought I was saving you from myself."

He cracked the smallest of smiles. "I need you to save _me_ from _myself_."

She nodded hurriedly. "I can do that," she promised.

Aragorn sighed and bent over her, brushing their noses together. "Don't leave," he said against her lips.

"I won't. But you have to trust that I won't. I opened my heart to you and gave you everything I have, including my trust. This relationship that we share must go both ways," she told him. "Let me have your trust, Aragorn. Have faith knowing that I will not leave you. You gave me hope; let me give you faith."

"Can you hold onto hope?" he asked.

"I can hold onto our wish," she replied.

He smiled again, just a little. "I need you, Arathell," he sighed, nose brushing against her throat.

"You have me," she answered, fighting the moan.

He exhaled a quick voiceless laugh. "I wasn't entirely meaning in that way." His hips dug into hers and her eyes widened, seeing the smirk grow a little. She began opening her mouth to point out the issues with his plan. "I need you, Arathell."

It was a question, and she knew it. The direct stating of her name showed who he needed. He asked her to disregard propriety and prove her words to him. She had claimed to only want Aragorn. He was asking her now if she would reject him because he was Elessar. What was more important to her – Aragorn's needs or Elessar's reputation?

She sighed and leaned up to press a firm kiss onto his lips, rolling her hips at him just a little. "I told you that you have me, Aragorn," she replied.

His face relaxed completely and he let go of her wrists, allowing her to grasp his face tightly as they kissed, his weight falling more and more on her and pushing her into her furs. His hands roamed her sides and she shivered in anticipation. He pulled away for a fraction of a moment, looking carefully at her. "I trust you," he confirmed.

Arathell smirked in arrogance, leaning up to push her lips against his ear. "Good," she growled before beginning to pull the strings of his tunic.

* * *

 **April 12, 3019 – Minas Tirith**

She stared out her window, watching as the sun began to ascend in the sky and smiling as all of the colors splayed across the brown fields of Pelennor. Sunrise was the only time of day where the field did not remind her of all of the blood spilt. The colors looked like life, and seeing the Women and older children begin tending to it for the next fall's harvest made her smile.

Arathell had promised to join them there today, so she turned and prepared for the long day's work, completely joyful.

Éowyn also emerged from the healing wards some days prior, happy to help in the endeavor. Éomer had already gone home, making to ensure Rohan's safety and being sure to promise that he would be back in time for the coronation of Aragorn and herself. Théoden had also yet to be buried and though Aragorn had offered an embellished tomb, Éomer was quite stern about ensuring that Rohan's King would be buried with his forefathers, and more importantly his son. No one could fault the young lord for such vindication. The funeral would be held in several months, the proper time for a burial to take place and it allowed the Rohirrim to grieve the loss of their King as well as all who fell alongside him in his last hour. It was ritualistic and beautiful, and seeing the honey-brown eyes of Rohan's future King dim with sadness had made her nearly shed a tear for Théoden herself.

Still, Arathell couldn't but laugh to herself at the thought of _Gondor's_ King, thinking that Aragorn's stubbornness knew no bounds. Instead of being crowned himself and then marrying her, he declared to Gandalf that the two would be married and then crowned together. She had rolled her eyes at the gesture, but it made her smile nevertheless. After inquiring his reasons, Aragorn had only told her that there would not be a first and a second to come into royalty. They would start their journey together, as husband and wife before they would as the King and Queen. The romanticism of that Man was absolutely relentless, and curse her for being as attracted to it as she was.

"How is Faramir today, my friend?" Arathell teased once she saw the shieldmaiden.

Éowyn smirked playfully, the flush in her pale morning cheeks still vibrant, just like the sunrise. Éomer had not been thrilled with the opportunity to leave his only flesh and blood in Gondor to fend for herself, but Arathell had managed to convince Rohan's King that she needed a companion and Éowyn was just the Woman for the job. The fact that it gave more time for her blossoming relationship with Faramir would never be admitted as a potential ulterior motive, though.

"I suppose he fairs just as well as Lord Aragorn would if I judge the stain in your cheek correctly," Éowyn retorted with a laugh, wasting no time in grabbing a bag of seed.

"Oh, aren't you cheeky!" Arathell snapped back, already throwing her own vegetable seeds into the already tilled soil. Éowyn laughed more, and Arathell could only smile. Faramir had saved her friend's life, and there was no doubting this. She was not sure how it was done, though Arathell could only assume that the young lord was remarkably similar to her own Aragorn. Éowyn and she were tremendously alike and they had shared similar hurts… Faramir's gentle touch and devoted attention to Éowyn must have caught her eye. Arathell supposed that it wasn't a surprise at all to hear that Éowyn's love for him grew the moment he recognized her as an individual and not as a Lady to be locked away or as a shieldmaiden to honor. Aragorn got along splendidly with the young Steward, and if both of them believed that Faramir had a good heart, Arathell would not doubt them.

"He has brought me some books with teachings in Westron," Éowyn confessed. "He has promised to teach me the language."

"I thought a lady of Rohan would already know the languages of world," Arathell remarked.

"He says that it is the worst accent he has ever heard," Éowyn muttered, though the twinkle in her eyes let Arathell know that she was not angry. "Therefore, I have already instructed my brother to retrieve some of our own books in Rohirric to teach Faramir."

"Quite the learning Man you have grappled."

"I daresay I have never met a soul with as much knowledge as him," her friend stated. "He reads with such a passion, as though he actually slays the dragons locked inside of his pages. He can draw all of the maps of Middle Earth by heart and knows the distance between all places and how long it would take to reach them, whether by foot or by horse. He knows of all of the medicinal herbs found in Ithilien, though he says he is not quite brave enough to try using them. Oh, and the way he describes Ithilien, Arathell! It –"

"'Overlaid with cool waterfalls that tickle the bottoms of one's feet and cleanses the soul and has trees that are warm to the touch and are so green that one feels as though they stand out even in their pale browns,'" Arathell finished for her. "You recite his words very often, mellon nin."

"You don't say it right," Éowyn groaned. "Nevertheless, hearing him talk about the places he's seen… I do not think there is a voice fairer."

"Who would have thought?" Arathell muttered.

"Yes, who would have?" Éowyn replied. "I have been meaning to ask as much, Arathell." Arathell paused and stared at her friend curiously. "Did you know? All of those times that I asked about if there was someone in my future, did you know of Faramir and what he and I would become?"

Arathell pursed her lips and looked at the ground again. "I did not have much hope then, Éowyn. I did not want to fill your head with something that may not come to pass. I figured you would have preferred me to be realistic as opposed to spouting the optimism that you were no doubt always hearing." Éowyn shrugged, but she did not disagree. "I thought that there would be a Man who could at least occupy your time. I was never very good at foresight, but it was a hunch that I admittedly had."

"He wants to live there, you know… in Ithilien," Éowyn mentioned quietly. "He wants that to be our home once we are married."

"I can vouch for his language; the area is indeed beautiful," Arathell replied lightly.

"He says that I have been forced to see evil surround me on the top of a hill for too long," Éowyn continued. "He thinks that I've quite forgotten what beauty can look like because I am always looking for danger."

Arathell considered it for a moment before nodding a little. "I think there is merit in his logic. Edoras is surrounded on all sides by plains – beautiful ones, but there is no room for cover there."

"I've never had someone offer to take me away," her friend continued still, sounding dumbfounded. "I've never had someone who wanted to show me such beauty and share such a personal thing with me for the rest of our lives. I don't quite know what to feel about it, to be honest."

Arathell smiled and reached from her row to pat her friend's hand. "He loves you very much, Éowyn."

"And I love him," Éowyn was quick to reply. "Never would I have thought that I could find such happiness in this world. And to think, you almost married his brother!" Arathell grimaced. "But do you think it is right – that I should go with him to Ithilien?"

"You have fought to be in control for all of your life, and I understand that; I was the same. But sometimes, relinquishing that control is the most liberating feeling in the world. If Faramir wishes to give you a home where you can wake with a smile and have a Man who loves you as much as he does… Éowyn, my dear, you would be a fool to throw such an opportunity away."

"Will Aragorn allow it?"

"I'll make sure that he does," Arathell soothed. "You deserve every happiness, and I have wished you joy for such a long time now… I could not bear to see you lose what you have with Faramir. Do not let your stubbornness win this round, mellon nin."

"I have already agreed to marry him," Éowyn grumbled.

"Oh, I will not believe you if you say that that was not what your heart desired from your relationship with him. You know as well as I do that you are madly in love with that Man and are more than anxious to wed him."

Éowyn laughed then, a smile growing on her face. "I cannot believe I am getting married – to someone I love, no less." Arathell could only smile, knowing that the statement was just as true for herself. "Does _it_ hurt?" Éowyn suddenly asked and Arathell closed her eyes and pursed her lips.

She did not need elaboration on the specifics of the question, and she had already wondered how long it would take for the bold White Lady of Rohan to ask questions. "I do not know what you mean," Arathell feigned.

"Yes, you do," Éowyn argued.

"You're impossible."

Her friend only laughed merrily.

* * *

 **April 24, 3019 – Minas Tirith**

Their wedding was to be held on the eleventh of June. Surprisingly, it had been Ioreth and the Brastor's young friend, Nethril to begin the plans. Healers were very devout in their craft, and it came to no one's surprise that they were just as committed in all fields. Ioreth was determined to ensure the beauty of the wedding and had ordered a willing Nethril around to organize flowers and colors and birds. It all seemed a bit much for Arathell, honestly.

Her dress had been tailored, and this was certainly one area where Arathell's breath was quite taken away. The bodice was a dazzling white made from the smoothest of satin that reflected brilliantly when struck with the sun. The embroidery was a striking silver bound so thickly together that the thread pieces were actually formidable baubles in its own right. The sleeves were long, nearly touching the floor when placed on the wooden mannequin, again the same pearly white as the rest of the dress. The coat that would be worn over the white was sewn on, making it a rich part of the whole ensemble. Gondor's rich navy blue, almost black outlined the bodice with silver cords binding each side of the coat together and blending in with the corset that she would be forced to wear underneath. The material was the same as the white, deep and powerful yet so perfectly soft.

Everyone had clapped their hands joyfully when they saw her eyes well up with tears the first time she saw it. The seamstresses were so terribly proud of their work, thinking that maybe they had created the only dress in existence that could come close to their starry queen. Indeed, the dress did remind her greatly of a blinding white star bursting through the darkness of the coat. A part of her almost did not feel worthy enough to wear it, but she kept that opinion tucked away because she knew the Women who had created such a visage would be furious with the claim and she would only have a dozen Women yelling at her that this was her wedding dress and that was that.

The blacksmith had also worked with the jeweler to fashion her crown. Apparently, other Stewards in the past had vented their frustrations out on absent ruling figures, and the original Queens' crowns had been lost, aside from some of the more precious ones that were still in her wardrobe upstairs. Not one of them had dared go near the King's crown however, and for that she was almost upset. Aragorn had fought long to distinguish himself from his ancestors and there were still times where he feared that he would succumb to the corruption they had fallen under. A new crown for him would have done him well.

In any case, she was not privileged to see her crown, not until the day it would be placed on her head at the royal wedding and coronation. It frightened her terribly, but Aragorn had promised that he would inspect the work and assist the Men in what her likes and dislikes were. Queen or no Queen, Arathell had never been incredibly fond of excessive gaudiness. Her wedding dress was the exception, but this was for obvious reasons.

"My lady, Ilmien?" a page asked, interrupting her writing in her study. After working in the fields, she often found herself here, trying to learn all she could about the business this country conducted – what was traded, for how much, with whom… there was a lot to learn.

"Yes?" she replied, barely pausing before making another note on her parchment.

"Minas Tirith has its first arrivals for the coronation," the boy stated. "They are Dwarves, Your Majesty."

Her head snapped up at the word. "Where are they coming from?" she demanded.

"They appear to be from Erebor, my lady – the Lonely Mountain," he answered.

Arathell rose and walked out of her study as fast as she could while still maintaining a sense of decorum. Her heart began thumping loudly as she walked through the city, making hurried nods of greeting to the people. By the time she had reached the third ring, she wished she would have pulled Faerdhinen from her stable, but it was too late now. Back and forth she swung between the rings, circling the drain of where potentially her Kara was waiting.

At the opened gate, she could see ponies marching closer and closer. It was indeed a royal entourage, and Arathell bounced with excitement, waiting. She had heard that Erebor and Dale had both survived, Dol-Guldur's wretched forces being driven back and destroyed thanks to her grandparents and King Thranduil. She still did not know if her family in Erebor had survived but the sight of any sort of royalty gave her hope.

The ponies trotted in with as much elegance as they could, stern Dwarves dismounting instantly and turning toward a carriage. Behind them however rode another Dwarf on his pony, and her soul sighed with relief. "Thorent!" she exclaimed. The boy smiled ruefully and dismounted, walking over to her with a sad smile. "Oh, thank the Valar you are alive!" she stated, pulling him in for a tight embrace.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned to see Aragorn, as well as other members of the Fellowship staring with concern as the small party. "It brings me great joy to know that you survived," Thorent murmured. "It is more than what was hoped for."

"Where is the rest of your family?" she asked. "Where is Kara?"

"She is here, Grandmother," another voice drawled, and she saw beautiful Glorsha emerge from the carriage. Her dress was a burnt orange and her long black hair fell like a mess around her shoulders, and her hands shook a little as she reached back into the carriage.

"Oh, my sweet dear!" Arathell sighed, walking closer to the carriage and leaving Aragorn and the others behind her.

When Kara came from the carriage, Arathell froze. Arabiff bumbled out afterwards, straightening her pretty blue dress and looking at the cobblestone ground. Arabiff went over to her brother who pulled her close, watching the Men of Gondor carefully. She likely had not been around people of this size before, other than Arathell.

But Arathell's eyes remained glued to her daughter.

Kara's long black hair did not look so black anymore. They would joke in the Mountain that her hair was like the coal that yielded diamonds and her eyes the emerald's that could ensnare even a demon's soul. That girl – that Kara – was not who stood in front of Arathell now.

Her hair looked much more grey than it did before. She had seen her daughter not even a year ago, and the smooth silver that had begun to line her daughter's hair had dulled and thickened into wiry shapes. Her green eyes mirrored a lake consumed with moss, mucky and forbidding.

"Kara," Arathell murmured, reaching for her dear girl. Her daughter wore black and barely returned the embrace. "I am so happy to see that you have survived."

Kara's eyes darted up to meet Arathell's lips pursed in a thin line. She then looked at the Fellowship behind Arathell with a crude gaze that was every bit Dwarven. "My lords, please take my children inside and fill their stomachs with a warm meal. The road has been long – take the guards with you as well," she commanded. Everyone seemed shocked, especially the Gondorians surrounding them, but slowly they began to dissipate, especially when Kara's glare would fall on them.

"Kara, my love, what is wrong? I have never seen you quite so…"

"Abrupt?" Kara remarked with a scoff. "I haven't either. I suppose we shall discover her together."

"Where are Fili and Kili?" Arathell asked.

Kara had already begun walking away, but she stopped and turned, meeting Arathell's gaze. One look and Arathell knew. "We travel together in this life no longer," Kara drawled. "I would care for some tea, if you do not mind. I have not had a good proper cup of tea since I left Rivendell."

Arathell nodded wordlessly and led her daughter away and back up through the rings, the greeting to Kara's childhood friend, Aragorn, brief. All of the walking done in Erebor must have kept her daughter in shape for Kara did not pant or become winded once. They arrived in Arathell's study not much later, and she sent for one of the handmaidens to retrieve a cup of tea.

Arathell sat in silence in her chair while Kara roamed the study, looking at the books on the higher shelves with disdain. "It has been so long since I have been in a Man's world," Kara remarked dryly. "Everything is much bigger than I remember."

The handmaiden brought the tea and waited for further instruction, but Arathell dismissed her almost instantly, leaning forward onto her desk to stare inquisitively at her daughter. "Was it peaceful?" Arathell asked quietly.

Kara snarled. "It was war! Nothing is peaceful."

"I'm sorry," Arathell apologized quickly.

Kara sighed and took the seat opposite of Arathell, not bothering to wait to pour her own cup of tea. "Kili hated tea so much… he only drank ale." Arathell waited. "I'm sorry, Mother, for being so short with you. When you left Erebor, my greatest concern was your safety and that of my children. You were going on a quest that seemed impossible and so dangerous, I did not even think…" Kara choked on a sob and took a hard drink of the tea, gasping a moment later from the undoubted heat of it. "I never thought that I needed to fear the safety of my husband. He was brave and fierce and such an opponent… the best archer of our race, did you know? He had been acclaimed at a tournament five years after we reclaimed Erebor. Who would have thought that with all of the death and despair that fate would rip him away from me? Why could Fate not leave him?"

"Did you fight also?" Arathell asked quietly.

Kara nodded. "My son and my Glorsha both did as well. I'm their mother; I could not leave them so." Arathell leaned back in the chair, biting her tongue and trying to prevent the sting of guilt that still managed to sweep into her mind. She had left her daughter…"I never left their sides, and Kili had promised to stay, but then… Dain called for reinforcements… I remember Fili joined, and I could never have stopped Kili from going after his brother. By the time the battle was over, Dain was dead. And beside him were my brother-in-law and my husband. Glorsha was the one who found him."

"Kara…" Arathell sighed, reaching for her daughter's hand.

"I'm alone," Kara muttered, looking down at her cup of tea. "He left. Just like Mara. Just like Thorin… Just like you…"

"We found Balin's tomb in Moria," Arathell ventured. It may have been the wrong time, but she knew that her daughter had the right to know. And Kara would only be more upset the longer Arathell kept the secret from her.

Kara sighed and now leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling. "We had figured as much – even before Kili… Óin and Ori as well then? They would not have left his side."

"We believe so…" Arathell agreed. "Gimli, the Dwarf in my company – he is the nephew of Óin and the son of Glóin. He has the Book of Mazarbul. Ori wrote it; I'm sure Gimli would not mind sharing it with you."

"Everyone leaves," Kara remarked, still looking at the ceiling.

"I'm here, child. I have not left," Arathell murmured.

Kara's eyes lazily went back to her. She did not look like her daughter and the sight broke a piece of Arathell. "You left the moment little Estel arrived in Rivendell. Do you know how often I worried? Do you know how often I wondered if you fled just to escape me?"

"Kara, do not be like that," Arathell stated. "I have duties, just as you do. You know that I love you and I missed you every moment I was away."

"Did you miss me when you left Erebor to come to this… Fellowship?"

"You know I did," Arathell argued.

"Little Estel has grown very much… he is to become your Elessar now, isn't he? How much have you truly thought of me and my children and my husband since being on this venture? How much thought have you given your family in comparison to him?"

"That is not fair, Kara –"

"You had the time to fall in love with a Man you had known since his infancy and you cannot once let me know in any way that you live? What was I supposed to tell my children when they asked for you that next morning? Do you know how Arabiff _cried_? She asked why you hated her, why you would leave without saying goodbye. And now I hear that you plan to marry and life could not be better for you. My family is in shambles and all of the support you have promised me is thrown to the wind at the prospect of becoming a Queen."

"That's enough!" Arathell snapped, standing up and glaring at her daughter. "You are grieving and I am sorry that Kili is gone –"

"It isn't just Kili though, is it? It is everyone who ever professed to love me. All I have are my children. Balin, Fili, Elrond, Mara, Thorin, you, and now my Kili… you all left."

"Then why are you here?" Arathell growled, feeling tears spill over and onto the papers on her desk. "If you loathe my apparent betrayal so much, and wish to uphold the most noble excommunication practices of Dwarves, then why did you come?"

"Because my children missed you," Kara retorted. "They wanted to ensure that their grandmother had survived. Because I told them that you wanted to take them to see Rivendell at the end of this blasted journey. Will you be upholding that end?"

Arathell bit her lip, remembering the promise well. "My father arrives with my sister in a matter of one month. He will return to Rivendell –"

"You would cart your grandchildren away with a being they have never known before? An Elf beside?"

"What happened to you?" Arathell screamed. "Where has my sweet little Kara Calemes gone? Where is my daughter? I understand you ache because you lost Kili and you believe you have lost me, but you scream and you scream about things you do not understand. What I have with Aragorn was not planned – it merely happened. We were on the road together for months, Kara. What can you expect?" Arathell bit her tongue, fighting to make sure not to say just how deep her relationship with the Man ran. "I never wanted to leave you – never."

Kara stared with what could almost be interpreted as boredom but then, after a moment of silence and staring, Kara fell to the ground, tears splashing on the floor and sobbing. Arathell rushed to her, holding her daughter close and kissing her hair. "I never stopped thinking about you, child. I never stopped praying to the Valar that you were alright and so were the children. I thought about you all of the time."

"I'm all alone now," Kara sobbed. "He's gone – oh, my Kili."

"Sh, I know," Arathell soothed. "I'm here. I'm here."

"I have a secret, Mother," Kara continued. "I have kept it since my own journey all of those years ago… I was so foolish…"

"You do not need to tell me, Kara," Arathell whispered.

"Kili was my One. At least I believe he was – I do not know. Can a Dwarf have a One? I always pictured him that way, and I love him so much. So much that it hurts," Kara droned on, clutching Arathell close. "And he knew. He knew my secret and he kept it for me. And he loved me anyway. Just like I kept his secret. And I still love him so much."

Kara seemed almost delirious now, but there was an itch growing in Arathell as she pondered the words. "Kara… what was the secret?"

"I'll be joining Kili soon," Kara stated with shaky nods. "I can't live like this, away from him – from all of them – for much longer. I just have to tell you because you are my mother, and you should know my secret."

"Kara…"

"You'll keep my secret, won't you? Because you love me – or at least you claim to."

"Of course I love you."

"You'll love me even after I say my secret?"

"Of course," Arathell repeated.

Kara debated for a moment, falling silent. Her wide emerald eyes shone with tears and she gnawed on her lip in her tarrying. Another moment passed, and Kara fell once more into sobs, the words "Kili" erupting often, and Arathell knew it was of no use. Before she could soothe her daughter much more, Kara promptly fainted, exhausted and broken from the journey and loss of her husband. Arathell had often thought of a moment where she thought that Aragorn had died… she didn't blame Kara in the slightest for her behavior.

* * *

 **So, I'm sure only some diehards here are going to notice, but Arwen and Aragorn got married on May first in the books. I decided to change it for reasons that become apparent in the next chapter. I am trying to stay canonical, but to do what I want I have to change one date or the other. Given actual facts, it seemed more logical to change the marriage day. Plus, this is Aragorn and Arathell, not Aragorn and Arwen. Entirely different relationship.**

 **And KARA! How exciting – I missed my Dwarf. Did you? I'm sorry, Fili and Kili. I really am. But I already spared them one war thanks to Kara's butterfly effect influence. Fate still had to collect. And her secret… hmm… any guesses? Unsurprisingly, that secret will be revealed and ONLY REVEALED in Kara's story, which I am still in the process of writing currently. I have hit a hefty writer's block with it, but my writing itch has returned full force lately on another piece (hello 100 fandom), so I think I will be able to switch that enthusiasm over to Kara's story. At the end of this one, if you guys are interested in Kara's story, the best way to know when her story gets posted is to put an author alert on me. I'm going to remain mum about the title of her story, but it has been decided for some time now.**

 **Check out the music! (And I plan to respond to reviews this weekend – all of them. Promise.)**

 **Ah! Two more chapters! Someone get me some tissues! Love you all lots!**

 **LM**


	86. Chapter 86

**Hey there, my darlings! I am back with the final installment for Part Six! Oh, gosh… Thank you all for being with me for as long as you have – some of you since the very beginning of this monster. It means so much to know that there are wonderful readers and reviewers who have made a connection with this story. This is definitely my opus as of now on this site, and though there is still the Epilogue to post, I do feel in a lot of ways that this is the end of the actual story. The Epilogue will be just a bonus in a lot of ways.**

 **As I mentioned last chapter, I do intend to give out some more one-shots once the story is actually marked as completed though (after the Epilogue). Those who are finishing the story as it is posted and have already submitted a minimum of 20 reviews over the course of the story, will get a one-shot of their choice! As always no smut, and for this one, even if you have already won a one-shot from the 100th reviewer challenge, you are still eligible to get another one. Because I seem to love the idea of submitting myself to so many amazing one-shot ideas! Whoever has the most reviews obviously will get top priority, hundredth reviewer challenge irrelevant.**

 **Alright… so… I guess I should probably get going now… As always, I don't own anything but Arathell and a few characters that may or may not appear in this chapter. Tying off some more plot bunnies for the grand finale. And… perhaps a few Special Guest Stars?**

* * *

Part Six – There are Miracles

All Ends Well - Alter Bridge

"If you believe in nothing else  
Just keep believing in yourself  
There will be times of trouble,  
It's gonna hurt like hell  
This much I know, all ends well  
It all ends well"

* * *

 **June 7, 3019 – Minas Tirith**

Despite her trying, Arathell could not get Kara to admit her secret, and her children were of no help, insisting that they were clueless as to what secret their mother could possibly be harboring. Thankfully, it had seemed that Kara was now willing to forgive Arathell for leaving, offering weeping apologies for being so hateful and for blaming the death of her husband for loosening her tongue in all of the wrong ways. Her daughter had conversed with Gimli, as Arathell had suggested and apparently the Dwarf had spouted many instances where situations would be dire without Arathell in their Fellowship. Arathell was much obliged to Gimli and had thanked him profusely later for convincing Kara that she had been needed with their group and hadn't abandoned Kara without reason.

Nevertheless, Arathell's time was devoted almost completely to her grandchildren. After hearing everything that Kara had had to say about how Arathell's sudden departure affected them, she only wanted to make amends. Arabiff was the first to concede, laughing around almost ceaselessly and begging for hugs from Arathell, which she was all too happy to give. She was old enough to know what had happened to her father and there were still moments where she would call out for Kili, only to remember that her "Da" was gone. Seeing that little girl cry was truly one of the most heartbreaking things Arathell could witness.

Thorent thankfully swayed next, though he denied that it was because he trusted her and loved her. It seemed that Dwarves were altogether too good at remembering the faults and old deeds of Elves, though in this case, Arathell could not say that his distrust was unfounded. Still, the young Dwarf King allied himself to her within days of his arrival. They spoke about Arathell's adventure with the Fellowship, and he admitted that he was fearful for his own adventure as Erebor's King to begin. Fili had taught him a great deal, but there still seemed to be so much to learn, and his mother was too beleaguered with the anguish to ask for assistance. Arathell was all he had, he claimed. She had bitten her lip about that, knowing that Erebor had a great council and Dwalin, a Dwarf from the original company that traveled with her daughter was still alive and living in the Mountain. He was a dear family friend and he likely would have advice that Arathell simply would not know how to give. But she was grateful to have her grandson again, no matter what that entailed.

Glorsha was the hardest to convince, and Arathell still wasn't entirely sure that she had. The young Princess of Erebor was stout in her beliefs and being that her father had been her greatest hero, she was nearly as broken as her mother was. Glorsha had been fiery in Arathell's attempts at apology, stating that perhaps if she had stayed, she could have protected her family better and Kili would still be alive. Both of them knew that it wasn't true, but that didn't matter so much to Glorsha. Kili had been everything to her and she needed someone to emit her anger towards, and Arathell was the best option.

Just like Kara, Arathell could not fault her granddaughter for her behavior.

Thankfully, the last few days had been somewhat civil and though no words of remorse came from either of them – Arathell knew that an apology would make her look weak in Glorsha's eyes – they seemed to have moved past their quarrel. It had arrived at acceptance, much like how many Dwarven quarrels end.

More importantly at the moment, Arathell was preparing for the arrival of her father and sister, along with her grandparents if she was exceedingly lucky. She had always been Galadriel's favorite… Arathell only prayed that the Elven Lady would want to see her marry.

Rohan's entourage has already arrived, Éomer proud on his stallion, Firefoot and appearing to be in much better spirits than he had been when he left. Éowyn had been ecstatic to see her brother, but Arathell had noticed that Rohan's King was just as quick to find Prince Imrahil's daughter, Lothíriel, the Woman he had danced with in Cormallen. The girl had blushed exceedingly when the Man had dropped a tender, practically seductive kiss on the back of her hand.

Along with the Rohirrim a young Man had come as well. Haleth was smiling and full of life when she saw him and she had cried many tears of joy as she held the precious youth close. Aragorn had clapped the boy on the shoulder and had proudly stated that there was room in Minas Tirith should he want to stay. Haleth agreed without even thinking about it, becoming yet another member of her constantly growing family.

* * *

It was not three hours after breakfast that the horns of Rivendell burst through the crevices of Minas Tirith, echoing bright and powerful like sunlight.

She had mounted Faerdhinen this time, riding down through the circles with Aragorn, her brothers, and the others, along with Kara and her grandchildren.

Arathell's heart was beating rapidly again, though it seemed that it was forever in a state of unrest ever since the Ring was destroyed.

Rivendell horses burst through the gates, galloping in a wide circle with Lord Elrond perched on his black stallion as the leader. Arathell's heart shuddered and she rode up alongside him, eyes glistening at the sight of her father again. He gave her a warm smile, wrinkles lining his eyes. It was a sad smile, and they both knew it. Everything that Gandalf had said the night before the Battle at Morannon bloomed in her mind and she thought with depression how there would come a day soon where she would have to bid her father farewell for all days.

"I have already given him my blessing," Elrond murmured, looking over at Aragorn who was graciously welcoming the Elves into the city.

Arathell's eyes watered more and she felt tears begin to leak out of them. "The wedding is in four days, Father," she told him.

"You have already forsaken your grace."

"Yes." There were no other words.

Her father hummed and cleared his throat, looking away for a brief moment. "And… are you happy? With your choice – are you happy?"

Arathell closed her eyes, unable to look at the man who had raised her. "Yes."

She felt his thumb touch her chin, and she opened her eyes to see his wet already. It was as though he was saying goodbye now. "Your hair… did you…?"  
"No," Arathell interrupted with a shake of her head. "I never would have but… during the battle, one of my Men cut it in order to save my life. I would have perished otherwise."

Elrond hummed again and let his fingers touch the short strands. "You look like your mother," he mentioned, her heart growing even larger at such a hefty compliment. "Her hair was this short. I don't know how I never saw it before – how much you look like her." He continued to appraise her. "It must be your leadership that makes you look like her. A breathtaking woman – one I most certainly did not deserve." He paused. "But I think… if there is any Man good enough for my Arathell, it would be Aragorn." Arathell smiled and choked on a soft sob. "You shall have to introduce me to the Man that saved you that day. I would thank him for protecting one of my most beloved treasures."

"He fell," Arathell stated. "He was buried, along with many others weeks ago, in Cormallen."

"Do you know his name?"

Arathell shook her head. "He would be honored by the country, I'm sure, if I did." There was a pregnant pause as some of the Elves began following Brastor and Lagordir back up through the rings. She turned and saw Legolas and Arwen in a tight embrace, both dismounted from their horses, laughing and crying joyously at being back in one another's arms. Arathell didn't think she had ever seen Legolas's smile so wide and Arwen's light glow so brightly. They looked like a painting, perfect and so full of love, even the background behind them was shining.

"I must follow my people. There are others I know who would wish to trade some words with you now before the chaos of the wedding is set fully into motion." Elrond leaned over in his saddle, pressing a tight kiss to her forehead before leaving to follow the lords and ladies of Imladris up the rings, her brothers following closely.

More figures entered, and she soon noticed that her grandparents, as well as some of the higher ranking officials of Lothlórien had been able to attend. She met her grandmother's eyes instantly, seeing a playful glitter in her starlight grey eyes. Galadriel did not say a word however and only continued following the procession up to the upper levels.

When Arathell saw her grandfather, her world nearly came to a stop. When she had left him in the woods, she could remember the pang of never knowing where she stood with the Elven Lord. Her grandfather had been one of the greatest inspirations she had ever had in her life, and their parting remarks had been wrong, and she thanked the Valar that they had given her opportunity to apologize.

"Tell me something, Ilmien," Celeborn asked. The pride that dripped from his voice as he pronounced her queenly name made her let out a sharp laugh. "Do you think yourself above these people?"

A vision of stairs popped from her memory, knowing that he would push and pull her to represent when he was both displeased and proud of her when it would come to her answer. She was so young – it had been the day she met Legolas, before even Kara had appeared in her life. "Though there are seven rings in Minas Tirith and the tallest sits as the smallest… I think that my people here have earned thrones of their own and I would hand-carve each of them if I could. They are more valiant and inspiring than any people I have known before, and I am honored to have them follow me as they have. It is more than I deserve after how long I have neglected them here," she replied carefully.

Celeborn smiled. "I believe I would let you walk up seven steps for that response," he commented.

She laughed a little, glancing back at her seven rings. "I would walk up them regardless at this point, grandfather," she replied and saw him smile a little. She reached her hand out and took his, squeezing his pale fingers tightly. "I am sorry for my words the night before my company departed from your woods," she mentioned. "It was unfair of me to be so upset, and I should have acted with more decorum giving the unknown climate of our futures at the time. I never wanted you to think that I hated you for your decisions. I may hold some resentment for having you test me in the way that you have, but you are my family."

"Arathell… you could not have made me more proud in that moment. It was when I decided that you would be an admirable Queen," he answered.

She smirked. "I suppose this means you cannot lock me in your dungeons for disrespecting you anymore?" she teased, wiping a tear from her eye.

"I'll just refrain from including you in decision-making; that seems to work just fine." Arathell laughed hard at that, giving her kin another grin before watching him ascend after his wife and people.

Arathell nodded, content with the answer before looking back at Arwen and Legolas.

She met Aragorn's gaze, who stood close to them. His brow was arched in question, waiting for her to initiate the conversation. It was time to put old matters to rest as she already had with her grandfather. This task, however would only be more difficult and again she prayed to the Valar for strength and she held her hope close that the conversation would not be argumentative.

Arathell dismounted from Faerdhinen, gripping the reins for a moment longer while taking a steadying breath. Arwen must have seen for she turned her grey gaze from Legolas and looked at her.

They stared at one another for some time, and out of her peripheral vision, she noticed Legolas and Aragorn retreat, welcoming the remaining Elves still trickling in and leading them all back up to the seventh circle.

Having her sister look at her again twisted a piece of Arathell's soul and she nearly started crying then and there. Hurriedly, she looked dug through her sleeve until she pulled out an envelope and held it up for Arwen to see it. "I read it," Arathell murmured. Arwen nodded in acknowledgement. "I… did know of Aragorn's affections. You did not betray his trust." Again, only a nod. "He had never told me that story before though. Perhaps he thought I would be jealous of you if I knew that he called out Lúthien's name to you in a moment of passion and not to me."

"Were you jealous?" Arwen finally asked.

Even the sound of her sister's velvety voice made Arathell's haunches rear up. Arathell tried her best to calm them, knowing that there was no need now to harbor such anger towards her sister. "I have always been jealous of you," Arathell admitted plainly. "You know that as well as I do."

Arwen nodded again. "He never wanted me."

"I know."

Arwen sighed as did Arathell. "I was always jealous of you and your adventures. You were a hero."

Arathell smiled a little and took a step closer. "We've both been… quite ridiculous then, haven't we?"

"The Dwarves always say that Elves give answers in both yes and no," Arwen chuckled lightly. "Our silence towards one another was perhaps the purest stereotype they have of our race."

"Your race," Arathell corrected.

Arwen did not seem surprised. "You have always been a formidable match," she remarked. "You both have fire in your souls, yet you both have the medicine to ease the burn when it becomes too great. You are balms to one another – everyone can see it."

"Yes, everyone can." More silence, and now they were fighting to find words to say. They had established their reconciliation and both admitted in their own way that they wanted a fresh beginning. How would one start such a friendship? Arathell bit her lip before opening her mouth just a little. "When Mother left, we agreed that we women would have to ensure that our prowess still be known amongst our family… Back then, it was just us two. I have Kara now… and Glorsha and Arabiff – her daughters. And then there is Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She has become one of my most treasured friends. And Brastor – he says he knows you – he has found a home with one of our healers here in the wards. Her name is Nethril. And…" Arathell knew she was rambling and she felt a blush stain her cheeks. "These Men… I would still have them hear from us – show them how strong we can be. That is, if you wanted to."

Arwen smiled widely again, and before Arathell could blink, they were embracing, tears running down their faces as old wounds closed and laughter licked the scars of the past away.

* * *

 **June 11, 3019 – Minas Tirith**

On her right, a Man stood, tall and proud and encased in the brightest steel, looking like a diamond beside her. A red cape flowed from his broad shoulders in deep contrast to the sharp, rich blue she had donned. Her hands were shaking – she didn't know how she had walked here. She couldn't remember anything before this moment.

A White Wizard was standing taller than her, looking down on them with tears in his eyes. He said words that sounded muffled in her ears, sounds that echoed as if from a dream. But she had replied, her mouth keeping pace with the ceremony while her heart blotted out any other thought – any other sound.

He had said one more thing and she felt herself turning to the Man. Stormy grey eyes sucked her brown ones in instantly, and suddenly everything else came into focus around those breathtaking eyes. Sounds of people shuffling were around her, but she did not look at them. Colors were bursting brighter and brighter with every second that passed.

The moment was entirely right, and the Man seemed to know. With a smile that made her gasp, his lips crashed down on hers, arms latching around her middle and crumpling the dress in ways that would most definitely make the seamstresses groan.

Her hands were in his hair, holding him to her and breathing in the moment and letting it fill her lungs. When he pulled away, there were tears, just as she knew there were tears in her own eyes. After so long… so many trials… so many doubts… she was here. _They_ were here. She was married! She had a husband! It was the most beautiful moment and it made her shake even more to know that it was not over.

The Man turned back to look at the Wizard, waiting expectantly. She now noticed that her father stood beside him. He was already crying, but he remained just as stoically beautiful as he had been for his thousands of years. She could not imagine the moment any other way.

A blue pillow erupted in front of her, carried by a blond, round Hobbit who was sniffling incessantly. On the pillow, she saw a crown, fashioned so expertly, her heart faltered. It was pure silver – of this there was no doubt. Branches meandered over the crown, forming the circle and reaching up into the pinnacle of the crown itself. In its center was the White Tree, studded with sapphires and pearls.

Her father retrieved the crown and held it up alongside a crown that the Wizard held. That one had four iron feathers bursting from the band, tall and proud and giving the wearer the wings needed to soar. With silent agreement, she watched her crown descend until she felt it encase her head. Even more warmth flooded her and she nearly laughed, despite the improper timing.

"Now come the days of the King, and his most beloved Queen," the Wizard drawled, announcing it to the shuffling feet still behind. "May they be blessed," he whispered.

They had been kneeling – she realized that now. The Man – her husband – took her hand and lifted her with him, turning them together to look at the people.

There were so many! Everyone began cheering, the sound almost deafening in her ears. The Man raised his hand and all fell quiet, waiting for the first words from the King. "This day does not belong to one Man and one Woman, but to all, so that we may share in the days of peace." The crowd clapped again, so happy that the sun looked belittled when compared to them.

Beside her, her husband began singing, his voice deep and echoing, and she swore she felt the sound reverberate back through her bones. She heard her voice join, a lighter, lilting melody in contrast, but it felt so right and her ears tinged with the beauty of the music they created together.

They walked through the crowd then, hand-in-hand, as they would always be from now on. She smiled at the thought, knowing that they had both waited long enough for such a moment – her three thousand years, and him since his arrival to their shared old-time home.

They came across the Hobbits then – four of them. Her little crown-bearer and the King's crown-bearer had rejoined the younger, more mischievous two of the four. All four made to bow low, though the King beside her stopped them. "My friends." Four heads rose, though their short bodies remained lowered, making her laugh. "You bow to no one," the King murmured.

She dropped low with the Man, hearing all other spectators follow suit and practically feeling the shock emanate from them as the world – their futures in a sense – blossomed in front of them like the first vigorous rose after the last winter's frost departed.

When they rose and began making their way inside to the Great Hall for the festivities, she and her husband waited at the doors, watching their people walk inside, saving themselves to be the last to enter.

Once everyone was inside, they paused and stared at one another. "Forever, Arathell?" he asked, reaching his hand out again for her to take.

She took it without question and squeezed, feeling grounded in the moment and remembering a time – how long ago it seemed – where this hand was her refuge. His palm meshed against hers and cleared her mind, hope and now faith trickling between the two appendages, and he acknowledged that with a smirk, playful and almost entirely flirtatious yet still so filled with love. "Always, Aragorn," she replied, never doubting the words for a moment.

* * *

 **So there was also a wedding! I didn't want to spoil it at the beginning, but there it is! Our Aras are finally married! And the sisters are on the mend! Maybe not all the way there, but working towards it (gotta do my best to stay realistic - it was a few decades of silent treatment, after all). And little Haleth – you couldn't honestly think I'd forgotten about our sweet Rohirrim boy? I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

 **Oh goodness… I don't really know what else to say here, except thank you. So many thank yous. Too many to count.**

 **I will see you lovelies for the Epilogue, which I will warn you, will be unbelievably short. And maybe a little reminiscent of something else we've already read.**

 **As always, check out the song… and if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a cry.**

 **LM**


	87. Chapter 87

**So… I guess this is the end. Thank you. All of you. For your reviews, your favorites, your follows, your readership… I am truly blessed. I love you all bunches. I don't really know how to express the gratitude that I am feeling at this moment. I hope that you guys like the Epilogue. It may sound a little familiar. I hope it does. The title is still taken from "Life is Beautiful" by Vega 4. The final line of the chorus.**

 **Thanks a million to ExiledRanger who surprised me with a new banner for this story! It's absolutely beautiful. I don't deserve all of the memorabilia you guys make for this! But certainly if anyone else wants to… who am I to say no?**

 _PLEASE_ **read the AN at the end of the story. Important information is there, and I don't want anyone missing out.**

 **Disclaimer: For the final time, I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien's work or Jackson's representation. I own Arathell and… maybe a couple more.**

* * *

Epilogue – Miracles

Into the West - Annie Lennox

"Don't say  
We have come now to the end  
White shores are calling  
You and I will meet again"

* * *

 _ **Epilogue – Fourth Age 5 – Middle Earth**_

 _A Gondorian King smiled at the creature in his hands, feeling as if his age was being rewound and the soil under his battle-worn feet felt softer and the wind smoother over his coarse skin. The creature's hands reached for his fingers with curious brown eyes… just like her mother's, a brown tuft of hair too to match._

 _"She is beautiful," he murmured into the new skin, breathing in the scent of his newest family member. She smelt like a crisp spring morning, with the dew still hugging the blades of grass._

 _Her mother reached for the new bundle, holding her close to her bosom and cooing._

 _He watched with pride as the girl's eyes roamed about her surroundings, knowing almost immediately that she was special indeed, much like her siblings. This was a being of importance and of this there was no doubt. The Valar had blessed him once more. What this daughter would go to do with her life, he was unsure. He longed deeply for her happiness and prayed to the Valar that they would be able to grant him such a thing, as they had already thankfully done with his other children – at least for the moment. He had peace._

 _The midwife, Nethril, caught his attention and walked to him with uneasy eyes, glancing at the closed doors that separated him and his wife from their home. He could see the question brimming in her eyes and nodded tiredly._

 _As if they had been watching through the cracks of the doors, two others burst through the door almost instantly, rushing to their mother's side and looking into the swaddle of cloth._

 _"Father?" he heard and looked over to see a little girl with hair as black as a raven's… his hair. "Do you love her more than you love me?" she mumbled, looking down at her hands bashfully._

 _"Of course not," her mother shushed, brown eyes widening with shock. "My sweet, Elil," his wife purred, reaching for his second eldest – his first daughter. The girl went to her mother instantly and he watched with a fierce love in his heart as his daughters were hugged to his wife. "No one could replace you, my sweetheart. I love you very, very much, and never forget that. You are needed just as much in this family as your brother and your sister are." He smirked at the buried word in her phrase. It had become such a frequent word in his wife's vocabulary, he almost forgot how vehemently she opposed addressing her needs and focused only on her wants. It was just a memory now._

 _"It is not every day that Valar bestow their gifts upon their people," he added, brushing the girl's raven hair away with a tender hand, and tilting her head to see her bright silver eyes…just like his. "Your brother, Ieston, asked a similar question upon your arrival, however." The boy, trying desperately to lean over his sister to see the baby stiffened in his position, still looking with wonder upon the new daughter._

 _"And how does my little wish think now?" their mother asked gently but with a spark of playfulness buried deep in her warm orbs. It was well known throughout the country that it was this mother who had not only given the literal life to her children, but she had given them the first breath to laughter, her sharp wit teasing them both lovingly and while still giving them the freedom to be who they wanted to be._

 _"I think I have the prettiest sisters in the world," he said with conviction, earning a nod from his father. It was not customary to see their son so serious in a situation, but looking at him, it would have been impossible to not see the fierce protectiveness he already shrouded his youngest sister with. Already, the baby had ensnared him as she had done with the rest of their family. Only the girl questioned this._

 _"I want to see. Move, Ieston," the girl piped again, pushing her older brother's suddenly crowding form from the sight. The King chuckled and rested his hand on his son's full head of chestnut hair, earning a pouting look from the silver eyes. When his daughter looked down into the swaddle, she twitched her nose. "How do you know she is pretty?" she asked, looking up at her brother. "Babies don't look like anything. They all look the same. How do you know she is going to be pretty?"_

 _Her brother sighed in exasperation, and the King traded a smile with his wife, hinting heavily at the trait Ieston doubtlessly inherited from his mother. The boy crowded the new baby again and reached to take the newborn's hands, playing with her fingers. "You're very pretty, Elil, and Mama always says I am handsome. Our sister just_ has _to be pretty too," he replied, as if the answer was completely obvious._

 _His daughter sighed and looked carefully at the baby, the indecision clear on her face as she continued to consider, yet again another trait so clearly inherited from her mother. "Do you think she'll like me?" she asked quietly._

 _He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze of comfort, pulling his two oldest children in close and kissing both of their heads. "Of course she will, my little star. We love each other very much in this family, don't we, meleth nin?" he asked, looking at his wife._

 _The mother of his children smiled widely, still stroking the blankets wrapping his newest daughter. She was looking at her two other children though with a knowing gleam in her eyes that reminded him of younger days, teasing in a sparring ring and counting wins and losses. She always counted the wins, proud to later rub his nose in them whenever she'd taken the lead. He had always counted the ties – the moments where they had been perfectly synchronized and in tune with each other. "We love each other forever…" she stated, waiting for an answer._

 _"And always," both children replied, sounding annoyed at the saying. But someday maybe they would know the significance of the two words. The look he traded with his wife seemed to agree with him._

 _The girl nodded in excitement, looking much calmer and smiling for the first time at her younger sister. "What is her name?"_

 _Her mother sighed contentedly and tiredly. "Her name is Caleth," she whispered before falling into slumber with a peaceful smile on her glowing face._

* * *

 **I'd like to keep this short, but there is just no way. I apologize. Lots to mention. And many to thank.**

 **Ieston – Wish**

 **Elil – Star**

 **Caleth – Light**

 **As always, my names are taken from real . elvish . net – the best thing ever.**

 **I wanted to let everyone know who is going to be getting a one-shot, and in what order as well:**

 _angel897_ **who has been with me since** Chapter 3 **of this story and has submitted a total of** 82 reviews **over the course of this story, one of my first supporters and one of the only ones who has stuck with me since the very beginning. Along with never having won a one-shot despite constant support, you definitely deserve the first of these! Thank you my friend.**

 _WickedGreene13_ **who has been with me since I posted** Chapter 33 **, but reviewed practically every chapter, totaling** 79 reviews **in all. My faithful Navigator who has not only been such a phenomenal support system for me, but has breathed life into the story, making a beautiful trailer for BDS, with talent that still leaves me utterly speechless. I think it's obvious that after all of that, you have been promoted to the Captain of the Aras ship. You deserve it!**

 _Tibblets_ **who has been with me since** Chapter 25 **and has submitted** 35 reviews **in total over the course of this story. It has been so fantastic talking about music and Tolkien and all things in between. It is crazy that you've been with me this long – it feels like only yesterday, my friend! Thank you always for your support and for consoling me whenever it took me forever to post – knowing I still has you as a reader was wonderful!**

 _WomanOfLetters_ **who has been with me since** Chapter 49 **and has reviewed** 27 times **. I've loved getting to know you and getting to talk with you about the story and about our different interests, especially in music. You've introduced me to some great stuff, and your input for the story was always so incredibly valuable. Your insights have even inspired me several times!**

 **I'd also like to give out one complementary one-shot, who despite not being entirely caught up to the end here with us, still deserves a one-shot in my eyes.** _TwillinOfTheWillows_ **has been with me as long as Angel has (since** Chapter 3 **) and has reviewed** 53 times **, even when life got busy. Also having never won a one-shot from a challenge, I say you deserve this for your long time support and ceaseless reviews. Given the behind-ness though, you'll get the last of the one-shots.**

 **In case anyone wanted to know my criteria, I'll reiterate. You had to have reviewed at least 20 times and had have reviewed at least once since the publishing of Chapter 80. That is the main reason that Twillin is being awarded one, because, while not reviewing for Chapter 80, has reviewed since the POSTING of Chapter 80, making her still involved in the story.**

 _For those of you who won a one-shot_ **, please send me a PM with what you would like to see in your one-shot and I will get on it as soon as possible. Since I'm writing five, I'm going to publish them as one story – a collection if you will. I'll make sure you guys know where to find them once they are published. And** _if the rest of my readers want to read these one-shots_ **, go ahead and** _put an author alert on me_ **so you'll know too.** _In this way, you'll also be notified for whenever Kara's story goes up, as that will go into the Hobbit fandom, not the Lord of the Rings fandom._

 **Again, thank you so much guys. I don't know how else to say it. This was the best possible scenario for this story, and I'm so happy that you guys have loved Arathell and gave that little childish girl from the beginning the chance to become everything that she could be. It was a wonderful experience, and I hope I get to have another similar one with you guys with Kara in the near future!**

 **Check out the song… but I'm sure you all know it. And hopefully the significance.**

 **For one last time… - LM**


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